


Dancing in Circles

by Kim_Kardashian



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Slow Build, monthly updates bc i suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kim_Kardashian/pseuds/Kim_Kardashian
Summary: Interestingly enough, being desperate works.When Phichit decides to take a brief departure from college, Yuuri is left without a roommate and half of this month's rent. But hope lies in the horizon when Yakov's neighbor's son happens to need a place to live, and Yuuri really wants to expect the worst. But it's not, obviously.





	1. Bold

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to take my writing more seriously this year, almost considered naming this bold and brash ngl.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Perhaps it was the weather, or simply because he only had four hours of sleep in his system, but the swarm of nerves that refused to simmer down made disappearing very likely. Where he would, he had no idea, considering he was in another country, very far away from the island of Japan.

“Yuuri. Please stop.”

“I never stop.”

Yuko gasped and feigned a scandalized pout, hand on her hip. It was a sunless morning, the clouds streaked completely gray. Sidewalks were littered with leaves and peeled bark.

“Someone's quite saucy this morning.”

He took a big gulp of his coffee. Stared at the dark liquid in his cup and idly wondered when was the last time he had properly brewed _sencha_. If he'll ever brew it like his mother does. “I haven't found a roommate yet." It was all he could think about ever since Phichit left the States two weeks ago. A much needed break that Yuuri almost agreed to join as well, but college wasn't cheap and neither was a vacation to Thailand. And Yuuri knew that once he had a taste of freedom, he wouldn't be coming back very soon. It didn't help that the end of the month loomed closer with each passing day, and that meant he had to summon up the remaining rent money somehow. Like most deadlines on a syllabus, it didn't worry him initially until he remembered his landlord existed.  

“The tips at the bar aren't enough?”

Her genuine concern was comforting, it made him want to cuddle with his giant poodle plush and buy Yuko a friendship necklace. He had three jobs, more like two and a half if you wanted to be technical. He bartended at the local university pub, was a barista at Yuko's father's cafe, and sometimes gave ice-skating lessons at the ice rink whenever Mr. Feltsman left for vacation. He made good money at the bar, something he omitted from his weekly calls to Hasetsu. If his mother knew he was an amazing mixologist, she would question other unconventional choices (mostly his wardrobe and weight). She probably wouldn't even believe him either, or acknowledge that her son was remotely interested in alcohol. If she knew, a casket would definitely wait for him after graduation.

“Yeah. But that would empty my savings account.” Yuuri wiped down the tables, scraping off the gum people left behind. Hopefully the day would end quickly so he could start putting up flyers for potential candidates. Phichit had offered to pay his half this month's rent regardless if he lived there or not, but that was out of the question. Then again, he knew Phichit didn't struggle much with money since Phichit saved every penny like a monster. Hoarded every crumb of food and mastered frugality in ways that made extreme couponing on a Friday perfectly normal. 

Yuko popped her bubble gum with a loud _snap_. “You could always move in with me and Takeshi,” she offered. He bit down the urge to snort. _Him_ , third wheel his best friend and her boyfriend? She glared. “Don't be gross!”

He laughed. “No thanks.”

“Watch it, Yuuri. Or I'll scar you.” He didn't doubt it. Whether Yuko was tired or not, she could pack violence in her small fists. She had her hair tied in a loose ponytail, some strands slipping into her mouth. This semester had been brutal and recovering from many sleepless nights was not an easy feat.

It wasn't any sunshine for him either. Sometimes the urge to just leave the States, drop out of college and head back home to an endless supply of _katsudon_ was extremely strong, but then he would look at his term bill and remember that thousands of dollars went into this already. He came as an international student, most of his scholarships due to his smartie smarts (his mother loved to remind anyone who dared question Yuuri's academic standing). His English and threading of words wasn't as bad now, but he still missed speaking Japanese. The lingo here has become part of his vocabulary, which was terrifying sometimes when it slipped out in his phone conversations. For the first year, he gained weight faster than he could manage, but his daily runs and dedication to cardio meant he could fit in his jeans again. “I got fat after finals, right?” He asked. "Like fat fat?"

Yuko stopped sweeping, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Not really. You're not pudgy-pudgy. You're filled in, but like in a good way. Your ass though,” she whistled, motioning a cupping gesture. “Those buns are the real thing, Katsuki-san.”

He covered his face. “I regret asking, _Nishigori-san_.” Yuko blushed.

“Shut up, or I'll make you do register.”

-

For the remainder of the week, he tried to focus on finishing his homework. As a bio major and vet-to-be, the library was his second home. His third home would be the bar, where the shot glasses had their magic and he had no reservations. And Celestino was a great manager, but his co-workers were interesting. To some degree.

He's using the word loosely. JJ was one of them he would not hesitate to impale happily. He didn't even work there, but his girlfriend Isabella did. Handling his obvious and disturbing lust for her every night she performed made Yuuri want to self-implode considering there's enough patrons who do that already. 

Otabek was great. A treasure, a silent treasure. As a security guard, no one dared rile something up. The others, well-

“Um, Yuuri,” Minami whispered. He raised his eyebrows, bracing himself for the worst. That was his I-messed-up voice. It amused him to know that others felt slightly intimidated by him. Yuuri? Terrifying? His mother and Mari too would laugh like hyenas in his face, like the time they realized his idea of seduction was eating slowly. 

“What's wrong?” Mistakes were allowed since he was a new hire, but it still made him cringe whenever Minami looked at him with a little too much admiration. By no means was he exceptional, but his time at the pub definitely meant seniority mattered.  

“That person over there keeps bothering me.” Minami whispered. “Keeps saying he usually gets drinks for free.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly?” He asked sharply.

“That guy.” The burst of laughter couldn't be helped. A repeat offender was the best, and Yuuri appreciated some entertainment on the clock. "That guy's'' appearance was a child trying to look like an adult. His shoulder length blond hair made him seem older, but twenty tops. The scowl on his face deepened as somebody elbowed past him to see the performance, a rendition of Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face'. Isabella was absolutely captivating in that sequined dress, so he understood. At this instant, her dance partner Mila whipped her hair free from her bun, her hair fiery under the yellow spotlight.

Yuuri sighed, a smile on his face. “Head back and get more vodka. I'll handle him.” Minami bowed before scurrying away. He waited five minutes, and just as he expected, the young man walked towards him. The moment they made eye contact, Yuuri couldn't help but grin. “Again?”

"Fuck. Where is he?”

Ignoring the vulgarity, Yuuri shrugged. “Who knows? ID, please.”

Yurio wrinkled his nose, eyes scathing. “He was smart to get you, I'll give him that. You damn pig.”

Now that nickname had history, but Yuuri knew to take anything Yurio said with a grain of salt. It was a bit amusing how Yurio never gave up, still hoped for the day that he would sneak by and finally get a cocktail. Persistence could be endearing. But first and foremost, there were laws, and Yuuri liked his freedom. He took carding very seriously, could distinguish a fake ID from a real one in a heartbeat. When he met Yuri Plisetsky in his basic comp class, they were often paired up together for peer reviews. He wasn't used to such hostility (he's well aware he's been a friendly marshmallow his whole life and any type of negativity is gut-wrenching), but he knew how much it irked Yurio whenever his grade was lower than Yuuri's. “How are you?”

“So no margarita? Not even a lemon drop?”

“Apple juice, maybe,” Yuuri said dryly. “Do you need anything?” He tried not to sound condescending. Every time Yurio came to the pub, it was either to a) visit Mila and give her a ride home, or B) ask Yuuri for help on editing/revising his papers.

“My essay's due in a week, and I want you to look at it,” he said bluntly.

“You know my email, though.” Before Yurio could say anything (and Yuuri knew he _always_ had something to say), he held a finger up as someone came up to him.

“Just a cherry bomb,” the woman requested.

“ID?” She fished for it in her wallet, sliding it towards him. “Alrighty.” He could feel Yurio's glare penetrate him, enough to slice him in two. The urge to hand him a glass of apple juice was strong, just to tease him, but he didn't want to push it when he knew how quickly that temper promised mass homicide. He handed her her drink, and the woman blew him a kiss, stuffing a crisp bill in the tipping box.

“She has terrible taste,” Yurio sniffed.

“Thanks. But don't make me ban you. Otabek memorizes faces like a pro.” He pointed to the security guard, an expression of utter disgruntlement as he eyed the tiny puddle of vomit. Yurio stayed quiet, looking suspiciously enchanted. “He's single,” Yuuri added helpfully.

“Shut up. Anyway, I needed, uh, something extra besides you looking at my paper.”

“A favor, you mean,” Yuuri said. He hated to admit that he actually looked forward to Yurio's visits. It's great to meet someone who hates you just as much as you hate yourself.

“I was wondering if you could also look over someone else's paper. He's someone I know.”

“A friend, you mean.”

Yurio rubbed his face, which was quickly reddening. “Fuck you. Seriously. So?”

Yuuri blinked. “So what?”

His own murder flashed before his eyes as Yurio grabbed his tie and pulled him close, voice rasping. “Will you look at his paper? Yes or no.”

Goodness. “Uh, yeah. I mean you're not giving me much of a choice. Just email it to me.” His voice wavered slightly, and he was glad Celestino wasn't here to see this. Yurio would be banned in less than a second, Otabek-dragged.

“Okay. But when you fix his paper, destroy him. _Hard._ ” He didn't say yes or no to that, because Yuuri happened to love giving critiques.

“I believe in equality.” The dance sequence had people cheering, and Mila blew kisses, giving the sultriest of smiles.

“Before I forget, Yakov also wants you to fill in next week. He's heading to Russia.” With that said, Yurio gave him a final customary glare before heading for the exit.

How he loved to be hated sometimes.

-

His eyes burned, hands cramped, but he continued. He despised being in front of the computer, his glasses slipping down, his back aching. At least Yuuri knew a desk job was out of the question.

He should be doing his usual evening run, but the overload of homework had him drowning in nothing but a sea of sadness and coffee. Keeping busy was always something he could do, especially when there really was so much to do. Balancing school and work takes time, but he knew his capability. Could he really do this? (who knows). Was he going to get his degree? (definitely, shouldn't even be a question). So he soldiered on, skimming through those emails, deleting those that only wanted to take his money. His inbox was never cluttered, and that was because he prided himself in having folders, followed by _subfolders_ for those folders.

A new email popped in his inbox, no subject. The two attachments were named 'shit 1' and 'shittier 2' so he knew which one was Yurio's. He opened 'shittier 2,' skimming through and glad to see it was only five pages. 'Shittier 2' had a name: Viktor Nikiforov. Clearly Russian as well, he noted, and probably another international student if he was in the same class. It slightly pleased him that Yurio was expanding his social circle. That boy sure needed to. Especially with that attitude.

He started typing immediately: _wrong font, supposed to be times new roman. Spacing is wrong, refer to mla website. Awkward syntax, word choice here should be looked at, strong thesis, a little too broad though, topic sentence completely irrelevant to the concepts being presented in the paragraph._ _Good essay, just work on connecting your ideas more cohesively_ _:_ _)_

He followed Yurio's advice slightly, destroying Viktor, but in a constructive way. Satisfied with the comments and glad he had a distraction besides anatomy, he tried to be nice when emailing it to the address at the bottom of Yurio's email.

Before he could open Yurio's essay though, Yurio emailed him again, in all caps this time.  

>   _How fucking DARE you, you fixed HIS essay first. I WILL end you, feel my wratH !!!_

_how did you know??_  

>   _He called me_ _crying. It was ugly._

Oh, goodness. He decided a nap was necessary.

-

Maybe being tired would be his default stage, after hungry. He can't recall the last time he had the luxury of taking a nap, because he was always on the move. Heading to class, cooking enough for leftovers, running, studying, working, catching the local bus. The most strenuous time span of his life before college would probably be high school, but other than that, he still managed to wonder how he was gaining weight. Just a little, not enough to demand his immediate attention. If his mother saw the state he was in, she would send him those rice masks and a whole stash of lollipops. A momma's boy to heart, her scolding could still make him fear for his life even if she was thousands of miles away. Existing will always make him unbearably tired, that was indisputable. Yuko noticed and patted his back, then butt, and kept walking towards the brewer. He only wept a little, knowing that today also meant the register, and well, talking to people.

Yuuri was a man of many talents. He can cry at will, eat fast, sleep long. But it wasn't so bad. People ordered their drinks and stayed to use the wifi, some being business people and others being college students. He loved this cafe, its atmosphere, the fact that he could eat lemon loaves and no one could stop him. He wasn't a bad barista either and seeing regulars, like at the pub, made him happy.

Except today was slightly exceptional. He loved friendly customers, but he also loved beautiful people. Looking but never touching was his policy. And a very friendly, very beautiful human being walked in with the cutest bell chime he's ever heard.

The man had ash blond hair, sleek and parted, his eyes just as stunning as the entire structure of his face. They were the palest of blues, reminding him of the skating rink, and if Phichit was here, he would call dibs. Since Mr. Nice Eyes was the only customer at the moment, no name would be asked and that was a shame. “Hello and welcome to the Ice Castle Cafe. What would you like to order?” He smiled, never betraying the absolute mess that melted inside his flesh prison. 

“Hello. Uh, I'll have a caramel latte. And a blueberry muffin.” His words were tinged with an accent, and being around Yurio, he knew this man had to be Russian as well.

“Size?” He asked, punching it in the system. The man's eyes widened and Yuuri couldn't help but suppress his need to laugh. Where was Yuko? “Small, medium-”

“Medium,” he said. His cheeks were slightly pink, Yuuri noticed. He remembered when he used to be embarrassed speaking English, his thick accent made him stutter and blush madly with every uttered syllable. And for some reason, he found that oddly charming.

“Alrighty.” Not that big of an order, and hopefully people don't come as he prepares the latte. “Total is five-fifty.” Mr. Nice Eyes nodded, taking out a nice bill from a really nice wallet. His gray scarf hinted towards a chiseled chest, athleticism _created_ that body. Yuuri could feel that man curiously watching him shuffle around to make his drink. Of course the moment he realized this, he dropped the carton of milk and watched it spill mercilessly over the counter. So much for that casual exchange. The horrendous full body inferno of embarrassment happened as he grabbed a mop and a stack of napkins. “Sorry about that!” His awkward laughter was cut off by the man's broad grin.

“Not a problem,” he assured.

Yuuri regained control of himself, hating how hot his face felt as he prepared the latte. He capped it with whipped cream, and took the two muffins out of the oven. Why he wanted to give him an extra muffin, he didn't know, but the decision had been made by his treacherous impulse and weak soul. “Thank you, and come again.” He actually meant it, too.

The man paused, before putting two dollars in the tip jar. “You were wonderful,” he said, smiling.

Yuuri gaped, and the man left with a final bell chime. He didn't know how long he stood, unable to function. “Get back to work!” Yuko yelled.

He could almost hear Yurio's words: “He has terrible taste.”

-

Although the bitter cold bothered him and absolutely sucked every ounce of moisture from his lips, Yuuri loved to bundle up. His collection of scarves only grew each fall, as his fluffy sweaters swallowed him whole. 

A text from Mr. Feltsman told him to show up at the rink later after class. This was the season children typically signed up for ice skating and ballet lessons. Yuuri often alternated, since he loved both and happened to be good if he said so himself. Back in Hasetsu, he remembered his old dreams of being a professional ice skater conquering rinks worldwide. Of course, he had always been practical, even as a child, and he absolutely adored animals. So being a vet it is.

Absentmindedly, he typed the notes from the slide as his professor spoke, wondering if there would be any new faces to see. Some of his students always came back, and it always scared him how wonderful he could be with children. Children were like katsudon, everything kind of was. You treat and cherish katsudon until it becomes a wonderful meal. He wouldn't eat children, necessarily, but they do have to be cherished to become wonderful people.

His excitement threatened to overflow as he saw the familiar building, probably one of his best discoveries in the States. Perhaps _the_ best, besides his friendship with Yuko. Georgi stood at the reception's desk, his eyes downcast and concentrating on fixing the stapler that for some reason was always dysfunctional. “Yakov is waiting for you,” was his standard greeting.

“Thanks.” He barely glanced at the door to his favorite studio, the one with the beautiful view of the sky and stream of clouds, and dropped his stuff on the love seat. Mr. Feltsman was hunched over, wiping the bars with disinfectant. “Sir.” His voice echoed, but the man only glanced at him briefly before he grunted.

“Yuuri.” How he missed the smell of lemon polish and stretching his core. Every muscle loosened for optimal form. “I'll be leaving in a few days, but you'll be doing the dance workshops, correct?” Mr. Feltsman used to intimidate him, amusingly so that even the staff knew.

“Y-Yes.”

The man raised a questioning eyebrow, continuing his daily check on the mats. “Just email me the times you're available, I'll squeeze ya in.” It amazed his that this man could work with his ex-wife, but when they clashed, _oh they clashed_. Those were days of darkness and the entire staff disappeared. Today wasn't a crossfire zone, so he knew he could live.

“Fair enough.”

Yakov zipped up his jacket, cracking his knuckles and back. “You live on campus, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, but in an apartment. It's off-campus housing technically,” he said slowly.

Clearing his throat, the man squinted as he looked outside. The trees themselves eased into bare dormancy. Sweater weather officially began and no one was complaining. October barely fleshed out, but its claim on the trees and wind already demanded people to cover up. “You don't know anyone looking for a roommate or something? Some kind of vacancy.”

Maybe he wouldn't have to sacrifice his savings to pay this month's rent. Maybe someone for some reason would want to live with him. He knew he wasn't difficult to live with. He got up early for his morning runs, showered, went to class, and didn't get back home from work until the evening. The absolute joy in his chest made him want to thank whoever timed this. “Uh, yeah,” he said a little too quickly. “I'm actually looking for a roommate right now.”

Mr. Feltsman finally perked up, his mouth pressed thoughtfully. “Interesting. I am trying to find a room for my neighbor's son. Starting this semester, but needs a place. Dorming is too...expensive.” 

Yuuri wasted no time, scribbling his last name and number on a post-it in his pocket. “Great, um, you could tell him to give me a call. Maybe show him the place if he's interested.” The urgency in his tone made Yakov smile wryly. He's been often told he's an open book, but he really needed a roommate, and as the saying goes, the early bird gets the worm. He can't possibly wait for people to respond to his ad, if they even saw it.

“I'll let him know.”

-

The glasses left an indentation on his forehead. Red angry lines complemented the pink puffiness of his eyes, which burned every time he blinked. The dry drool on the side on his cheek earned a cringe, but at least his textbook had been spared. It was a rental after all. Maybe falling asleep on his desk would doom him for an entire day of back pain, but what else does he have to lose? The assignment was submitted, done, left in the dust from his need to have a degree. His barely conscious mind recognized his ringtone. An incoming call from an unknown number. At this time no less.

 _“Yuuri!”_ Only Phichit could sound that chipper at such a godawful time. _“How are you?”_

“No.” His voice sounded terribly hoarse, and dawn was not the time to even have human interaction. Who invented that anyway? Being part of the human race had certain stipulations he hated. “How did you know I'd be awake?” He asked instead.

 _“Yuuri, honey, you forgot I lived with you for two years. I knew you'd be running or waking up from a sweet all-nighter_ ,” he said, laughing. Laughing. Laughing usually equates to happiness and humor. Something he was not familiar with right now. Yuuri wanted to drown at the bar, with a piña colada if life decided to be kind.

“I'm actually going to head out for a run. Being home sounds better though.” His running shoes have seen better days, but they were his favorite. The t-shirt he was wearing would suffice.

 _“I love being home, never knew how much I missed it. But go run, don't forget your keys. Make sure to be aware of your surroundings.”_ That warmth bloomed in his chest and he couldn't be any happier knowing Phichit wouldn't be able to see how much his mothering was welcome. Phichit could make him emotional instantly, or maybe he was a big baby (it was both). They exchanged heartfelt goodbyes, the remaining silence reminded him how alone he was. There were still remnants left all over the apartment. Phichit's toaster, his Disneyland snow globe, his giant hamster plush. All of which Yuuri sometimes slept with on particularly lonely nights.

But the steady rhythm of his breathing, although labored, soothed the slight ache in his chest. In, in, out, knees rising slightly, elbows tucked in but relaxed. Oh, he loved running. His body was his compass, the wind pinched his skin, the warmth in his cheeks pulsated as he reached his peak. But that was the battle in running, always a battle between the body and mind. The mind yelling to stop, but the body aware that it can still surge ahead. And his limitations, well, they were quite difficult to confront when he's the one responsible in the first place. He closed his eyes, craving more than a run.

The pure oxygen and steamy fog in Hasetsu, in the family hot spring always coursed tranquility like a bullet through his body. But here, he wanted to grow. Expand and take risks, be bold. Craft and construct the unknown future he could possibly be satisfied with.

So when his phone buzzed, he looked at the message. 

> _Hello is this Katsuki? Yakov gave me your number and I was wondering if you would like to meet up bc I am looking for a room_

Panting and loving the pain in his legs and chest, his lungs desperate to breathe, he smiled. 

> _of course!!! Is 2pm at ice castle cafe okay?_

In less than a minute, a reply waited for him.  

> _Perfect :)_

He didn't even ask for a name.

-

Why that time would be perfect was because that's when his shift ended. Yuko seemed suspicious, but this was Mr. Feltsman, he wouldn't recommend a criminal.

“What if he's a slob? Or worse... _very_ sexually active.” His face was on fire as he shushed her.

“Don't be like that,” he wheezed. She shrugged, unconvinced. _We'll see_ , her stare said. Although she was a year older than him, her tendencies bordered on to Christian mother levels. He's been in this country long enough to notice how strange these Americans were. Of course, Yuko's doubts seeded his mind with questions of his own.

What if he was too social, and he brought too many people over? All the time. Or listened to music loudly. _Don't do that_ , his mind yelled. _You don't even know this_ _person_ _._

It was five minutes before two when the bell jingled again, and his mouth lost its supply of saliva. The tip jar was only half full today, he lost count, because that man from the other day, Mr. Nice Eyes, was heading towards him. He noted that instead of all gray, he wore a burgundy sweater.

And Mr. Nice Eyes remembered him as well, his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly. Yuuri smiled back, heart stuttering like a failing engine. Familiarity was fatal. “H-Hello. Welcome to the Ice Castle Cafe, what can I get you?”

“Hi. A caramel latte. And a lemon loaf...medium,” he said, a little more confident this time. He glanced at his phone with a frown and typed something as he handed over a bill. Yuuri nodded and handed him his change, a little nervous when he looked at the clock. But as he handed over the latte and loaf, Mr. Nice Eyes didn't leave. Instead he made himself comfortable at a table near the window, his eyes persistently glued to his phone. Yuuri counted the register before cleaning the counters, trying to rush and remove his apron before another customer showed up. Yuko should be back in a few seconds, so...

When his butt made contact with the soft cushion, his back stopped throbbing. He chose a booth a little far from Mr. Nice Eyes, the only person in the cafe. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he checked his notifications, seeing two texts.   

>   _I'm here at the cafe_
> 
> _Where are you?_

Leaving became an option. He could flee right now, away away away. How his mind didn't connect the dots, he didn't know? Wasn't he supposed to be smart? That person, Mr. Nice Eyes, was texting _him_. Oh. Nope. It was three minutes past two. And a few bites from the lemon loaf have been taken. Should he _dare?_    

>   _I'm here too_

He dared. He watched. He died. In that order. Observed the man check his phone, his shoulders hunched over. Yuuri decided to cut the act, because the rent had to paid, he was too young to be having this many melt downs, and because, well. What would Mr. Feltsman say if he stood up his neighbor's son?

But the man was already looking around, and if it weren't for the horrible pain in his back, Yuuri would burst out laughing, fake bravado aside. He approached the table slowly, still extremely tempted to just leave, but he didn't. The man, Yakov's neighbor's son, frowned, then looked at Yuuri's phone, eyes widening enough for Yuuri to see how crystal blue they were. “Hi,” he said, letting it hang awkwardly in the air. “Uh, sorry for being late.”

“Oh! You're Katsuki?” He asked, clearly still disbelieving. But not disappointed, if Yuuri wasn't mistaken.

“Yuuri, actually. Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri flopped on his seat, shifting around to at least be comfortable. “Sorry, I should've probably written my first name down.” He sheepishly pulled his sleeve. Maybe he should have made himself drink, it'd give him something to do.

“Yuuri? Your name is Yuuri?” The caramel latte abandoned, Yuuri couldn't help but not really like where this was going.

“Yeah. What's...yours?”

That broad and dazzling smile reappeared, and Yuuri had half a mind to ban smiling in the apartment if this would be a frequent thing. “Oh, sorry. I'm Viktor Nikiforov.” _Even his name was perfect._ “But if you're Yuuri, do you know Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky.”

And his instincts told him that his answer held a lot of weight, and whether it was because he loved to suffer, he nodded numbly anyway, still wanting to bolt out the door. What did Yurio have to do with this?

Everything. Because-

“You're the one who revised my paper! To the T, if I may add. Murdered it.” Viktor said, amused and bashful. “I've never seen anything like it.”

His double life as a tomato sometimes invaded his life as a human, and the horror on his face must have been obvious because Viktor grabbed his hands, which made things worse really, a lot worse, you just don't touch Yuuri when he's melting in shame, but Viktor did, and if there was an award show, Yuuri's vocal cords would win 'Most Useless' by a landslide.

How many big revelations was he going to have in one day? Mr. Nice Eyes was his customer, but he was _also_ Yakov's neighbor's son, but _also_ Yurio's 'shittier 2' in his email inbox, but _also_ his maybe new roommate, but also _still_ smiling in that handsome, movie star way. “Oh,” he croaked, stretching his lips painfully. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be so...critical.”

Viktor laughed. “No, Yuuri. It was great, got a solid B plus for once in that class. You were great. Thank you. I was actually thinking about emailing you again, but I was too embarrassed since I didn't really know you.” Yuuri couldn't help but actually give a faint grin. Because Viktor was friendly, as nice as his face, if he may add helpfully. His random bouts of embarrassment weren't ridiculed. “Anyway, I don't really have to see the place. You're exceptional. When can I move in?”

It was happening. It really was. He inhaled. “Whenever you want to.”

 


	2. And

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mothering that's welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fastest update I've ever seen (by me), but don't get used to it bc I suck :^)

When he met Yuko for the very first time, the word 'beautiful' crossed his mind. Her hair had been longer, her accent mastered perfectly, and she had these dimples that were too prominent to ignore. Yuuri had never met someone as kind as her, still remembered how she could curse like a sailor when pushed past the brink of fury, especially when they were kids. Kids who poked fun at his weight would have no choice but to be sorry if Yuuri decided to tattle his woes. And while Yuuri thought of himself to be reactive, she was proactive, never hesitating to rear her head viciously at anything. The day she left to study at the United States was the day he didn't ever question her tenacity, and maybe, he thought, maybe he could leave Hasetsu as well. Maybe he could find a purpose somewhere where no one knew him, where no one knew his name or acknowledged his existence.

That very year, he stopped sitting at the back of the class, smacked his butt on the first seat, became the class representative, won a few freestyle dance competitions, and had a plane ticket far, far away from Japan. The English dictionary was his only solace for the first few weeks. So that's why when anything remotely shocking happened to him, something bad, she would be the first person to know. And Yuuri had a lot of bad, but also great things happen.

She introduced him to Phichit, who also arrived to the States when she did (but she calls him Pistachio). Phichit was exactly what Yuuri needed in a friend: talkative, bossy, and whimsical. Talkative to fill in the awkward silences Yuuri always knew he'd have, bossy to urge him to do his work or eat healthy, and whimsical to drag him to clubs here and there. There were many choices he had made unexpectedly, many that led to weight gain, others to some inkling of real happiness. Agreeing to be Viktor's roommate wouldn't necessarily be a mistake, but it could lead to weight gain. (Of course, he kept the news about Viktor to himself, as if it was some sort of dirty secret, still figuring where to characterize this life altering choice). Or a heart attack, since those movie star tendencies of his were a little disarming sometimes. So he helped Viktor with his bed frame, setting it up for his mattress, trying to remain a little open to the prospect of a conversation.

The room had been swept, mopped, and Febrezed. It had a great view of the park across the street, something he always loved to wake up to regardless of the season, and it was spacious. Yuuri made sure to move his stuff to his side, and packed some of Phichit's spare belongings in the pantry.

“You have a really simple style,” Viktor commented, not noticing Yuuri's silent scream. Yeah, he forgot about the giant poodle plush on his bed and his dinosaur bedsheets. Yuko's hyena laugh should be his life soundtrack (when she cackled, she cackled). He watched Viktor bring a lava lamp and an English alphabet poster, arranging everything deliberately. “It's how I practiced,” he explained brightly. "My English was terrible!"

He didn't know how to really gauge Viktor. Because from the very limited interactions they've had, Yuuri knows he's a Russian international student, and he's nice. Actually nice, a personality made of brown sugar and honey. But his face, Yuuri just couldn't bring himself to look at Viktor's face. It was that pretty, a little too otherworldly, and that was enough to make him skittish. Hopefully he's not sexually active, because with a face like that, Yuuri didn't know what to expect. Viktor did not hesitate to express his affections or spurts of pleasure, and Yuuri disintegrated every time he was on the receiving end of any physical human contact. Getting to know people and asking the right questions were never skills he mastered, and he really didn't want to unintentionally push Viktor away. To remain one dimensional. He wanted to try socializing, be a little out of the box, add more substance to their relationship because he was a human being, and Yuuri was never great at being a human being either. His mother would often say he must have been a bear in his past life. Strong, but solitary.

There was little to unpack, until a mat and ice skates caught his eye. “You dance?” He asked, finally able to find his voice. Viktor raised his eyebrows, probably just as surprised as he was that he wanted to have a conversation.

“Yeah. I teach ice skating lessons at the local rink, sometimes ballet.” And Yuuri couldn't stop the grin that wormed itself on his face. Some common ground to build upon.

His ''me too'' never left his mouth, could have said it. But he didn't, because Viktor's arms embraced him in a small hug, so quickly coherence would be impossible.

“Thanks for letting me live here, Yuuri.”

This would take some time to get used to. Maybe he should leave his flesh prison. Forever.

-

The bar wasn't big. The dance floor wasn't either, and the things his virginal eyes have seen could get him a one way ticket to church. Would embarrass Yuko, the most outrageously open person out there. He's seen all types of grinding on all types of body parts, sloppy kisses that seemed a little too animalistic if you ask him, but Yuuri knew one thing for sure, and it was always that someone would try to test him. Test him in ways that he knew he could murder with his bare baby soft hands. He knows he doesn't look intimidating once seen up close, his cheeks round, his height not impressively tall, and a frame that looked more toned than built. He didn't dare wear his glasses, and styled his hair to look at least a little more mature and experienced, the opposite of a fragile marshmallow.

But it wouldn't always work, hence someone thought it'd be nice to be snappy. “You didn't make my my drink properly.”

“Sorry about that, I'll make it for you again.” He understood if someone wasn't satisfied. It happened.

“Oh, no.” The man said. “You can't fix it.”

Somehow keeping his expression neutral, he silently thanked his father for his mellow nature and high tolerance for alcohol. “Fine, I'll get another bartender to make your drink for you.” Minami should be in the back somewhere.

“You can fix it by giving me another special service.”

“Special service?” Yuuri echoed. The man nodded with heavy suggestion that immediately doused Yuuri's marshmallow blood in anger. “The only service I can provide you is giving you another drink, or kicking you out.”

“Don't be like that. I'll wait for your shift to end so you can make it up to me, if you want.” Yuuri didn't even hesitate, he pulled out his walkie and summoned Otabek like a fairy godmother. In less than a minute, dancers began to part and Otabek's wonderful corded arms headed his way, the darkest expression on his face. The man noticed too, and zeroed in on fisting Yuuri's collar, his sneer replaced by indignation. Before anything happened, Otabek pulled the man off him and grunted something aggressively, dragging him to the exit.

He couldn't register anything else, Minami was by his side instantly, hovering with a mother hen demeanor that Yuuri's never seen. “Are you okay?” Onlookers shared quiet sympathetic stares as Yuuri coughed and readjusted his collar.

“Y-Yeah, not a big deal. If someone does that to _you_ , Otabek is your savior, okay?” Minami didn't look convinced, but nodded earnestly anyway.

Did Yuuri live for danger, he didn't know. But dealing with seedy advances wasn't anything new, just more disgusting every time. Maybe he should gain weight.

But Yuko's cupping motion made him stop considering the idea.

-

By the time he locked the drinks in their designated racks, cleaned every glass surface possible, and made himself a piña colada (he knows not to push it), his hair had become frizzy, its attempt at style gone, like his soul. He felt Minami staring at him, as if waiting for him to burst. “What?” He finally said, regretting the impatience that seeped into that word. Minami's flushed cheeks made him exhale deeply. _Try again, summon your inner marshmallow_. “Sorry. Just...long night.”

“No, I understand. It's just that, your neck, uh, it's red.”

He checked his reflection, noting the harsh friction burn on his throat. It seemed like someone tried to strangle him, with lots of gusto he might add. Yuuri shuddered, wondering what could have happened if he didn't summon Otabek fast enough. Walking around campus with a black eye wasn't exactly the best scenario. He pressed his fingers on the red skin, its warmth and tenderness painful. “You should walk him to his car or something,” a man said flatly to Minami, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were baby pink, eyes and face so beautiful Yuuri wondered how he forgot about him. “That creep said he'd wait for your shift to finish, so don't get snatched.”

“T-Thanks. I definitely didn't think about that.” Yuuri stuttered, not sure if he was grateful or embarrassed. The man raised an eyebrow, gulping the last of his shot.

“Christophe,” he explained, pointing to himself. “See you around. This shot glass is mine by the way.” Yuuri nodded, and glanced at Minami.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” The younger man quipped.

Yuuri blanched, not expecting Minami to agree so readily. “I don't have a car, and I don't want you to walk me–”

“Not a problem, _I_ have a car.” Oh. Two cocktails later, they bundled into their coats, the smell of sweat and beer still clung to their clothes. Probably the only downside of his job, since the piña colada made him feel warm, but only for a brief second. The night was bitingly cold, nipping harshly on his exposed cheek. Each of the streetlights faded one by one, life on the road absolutely bare. Heavy fatigue weighed in his bones and his contacts were starting to irritate his eyes. “You okay? The car's right there.” Minami murmured. Yuuri nodded weakly. It was small and red, but the leather seat startled him into alertness, his breath coming out in white puffs. “Shit, it's cold.”

Taken aback by Minami's language, but agreeing all the same, his chattering teeth barely let him speak. What in the world, it's only October. “I-I live by the li-library. And bubble tea shop.”

“I know where that i-is. Buckle up, Yuuri, I love to speed.”

“You barely warmed up the car!” Yuuri argued, but squeaked when the engine sputtered to life loudly, the radio playing hardcore metal. He could hardly hear himself think, and _clearly_ he misjudged Minami by a long shot when the sharpest turn in his life happened. The car, although small, was _powerful_ , jolting like a roller coaster. “W-Wait, Minami, maybe I'll call a cab.”

Minami ignored him, or maybe couldn't hear him over the incoherent screams. “I can't hear what you're saying, sorry! The radio doesn't work, so this is always the volume and station that'll play! You'll get home in a quickie!” _If I don't die first_ , he cried inwardly, closing his eyes when they braked with a screech at the stop light. How in the world did Minami get a driver's license, oh god, these were becoming the longest and most life threatening minutes of his life. “You learn to love the music! Those Americans, am I right?”

The lurching in his stomach wouldn't stop, and for once in his marshmallow body, he knew what it was like to hyperventilate. Not even that creepy customer scared him like this. His heartbeat was in his throat, and when his eyes finally took in that he was home, he never felt such elation fill his lungs. The cold had stopped bothering him a while ago, the heat of his anxiety warmed him up enough. _I'm home. Home am I._

“Thank you, Minami-chan.”

Not catching the inflection of fear, Minami saluted him. “Not a problem, if you ever need a ride, let me know!”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Yuuri forcefully smiled, and watched him speed away. The adrenaline in his body still remained so he took the stairs two at a time to dispel it, and when he finally opened the door, he breathed in a wonderful scent, one he loved.

“It's jasmine,” Viktor said. In his pajamas, somehow still dashing. Yuuri blushed, not expecting the other to be awake at a time like this. “Sorry, I should've probably asked if you welcomed this. But it smells great, doesn't it?”

He shrugged off his coat and shoes, heading to the stove and filling the kettle with water. “It does,” Yuuri agreed, unbuttoning his shirt. Ah, yes. Sweet freedom. Some chamomile tea should make him feel better, perfect with the jasmine. Viktor remained uncharacteristically quiet, in a way that was foreboding. “Do you want some tea?”

“What happened to your neck?” Viktor countered instead. There was a dangerous edge to his question, but he knew that for some reason Viktor would hate it if he dismissed the situation or lied. Yuuri laughed nervously, avoiding a glare and pathetically pulled his collar upwards. Sugar on the counter, check. Milk, yep. (Milk is running low though, restock tomorrow.) Chamomile tea bags (also a restock). He's never seen Viktor express an emotion besides manic cheeriness. This was a whole different side of the coin, and honestly, he would never want to be the person to provoke that kind of anger in a person who was usually recklessly optimistic.

“Uh, a little trouble at work. Some guy tried to take things a bit far, not a big deal,” he said, the kettle suddenly far more interesting than an onslaught of questions. Phichit would be just as upset and inquisitive, maybe a little swearing here and there.

“How far?” Viktor asked, affronted.

“Not that bad. It happens sometimes.” Yuuri itched to remove his contacts, so he made a beeline for the bathroom, still scared when Viktor was hot on his heels. Definitely not dropping this any time soon, but his relentless concern didn't irritate him. Maybe he missed his mom _that_ much.

“Who does that at a café, though?”

Oh. He basically wore the same uniform to his jobs but how hasn't he explained this? It's not an embarrassing or world shattering secret, so he casually prodded his eyeball and decided clarification was necessary. “Not the cafe. I, uh, work as a bartender. The cafe is during the mornings and afternoons. But mostly at the UniPub on evenings, maybe to closing.” He blinked rapidly, feeling the chains of fake vision lifted. Of course Viktor was now rendered a blurry blob, so perhaps his anger won't be as blood chilling if Yuuri can't see it in HD. But like Yurio, that persistence was formidable and definitely determined to do something about the situation (he was the situation). Before he knew it, his glasses were placed on his face, no questions asked, which meant having no choice but to see the quiet frustration on Viktor's face.

“They were on your desk. But I have an aloe vera ointment for that.” Viktor gestured him to stay put, but Yuuri followed him anyway into _their_ room. Verbal babying wouldn't work, and Yuuri appreciated that the other kept trying, even if he had no reason to. They just met, but a certain warm-hearted fondness crept through him as he watched the man rummage through his bags, finding a small tube with a triumphant grin. Without warning the sides of Yuuri's face were forcefully held still, chin tilted upwards. If Viktor could smell the alcohol on him, he didn't say anything. “Don't squirm, Yuuri.” Viktor chided with the most gentle touch that rivaled a baby's. It was as if Yuuri was made of glass, and he held his breath as something cool kept the pain at bay. It burned, but not painfully.

“Feels weird.”

“Just a bit more.” An eternity more. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

The kettle's high pitched whistle should suffice as an answer. "Yeah, it kind of was," he said. Okay, Viktor was officially his mom and Yuuri didn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will fix this later, bc I'm absolute garbage when it comes to catching my mistakes. If you find any, pls let me know. And thank you so much for your kindness, I really appreciate it ❤️ (so much for slow build)


	3. Brash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About three things I was absolutely positive.  
> First, Edward was a vampire.  
> Second—there was a part of him and I didn't know how dominant that part might be—that thirsted for my blood.  
> And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

When Sleeping Beauty woke up for the first time in a century, Yuuri wondered how she felt. And envied her, because she was woken up with true love's kiss, had a glorified bed and room for her Prince Charming to see, and she had no worries other than to be saved from eternal slumber. His body was in this one realm of bliss, one he hasn't felt in a while, and suddenly, for the first time in a century, he felt his soul revive, his will to live return, and something soft touch his forehead. Something that was maybe Katsu-chan (his poodle), maybe he really was back in Hasetsu and adulthood was all nothing but a terrible nightmare.

There would be breakfast served on the table, his tatami laid out and clean— “Yuuri.” His day to relax at the hot spring, with no responsibility to weigh him down, to not feel like Atlas himself- “Yuuri.” What a beautiful voice, calling to him. _“Yuuri.”_ That voice had a touch of urgency, way too strawberry sweet to ignore.

“Say that again.” His tongue had a mind of its own. It felt heavy in his mouth.

“I-I don't understand Japanese, Yuuri.” The siren seemed concerned, and it touched his heart. There was beauty in kindness.

“Say that again,” he repeated, in English this time. He was weak, he knew that. 

“Uh, okay. Yuuri?”

“That's right.”

“Yuuri, you have a Skype call.” He opened his eyes, registering Viktor's face hovering over him with an unreadable expression. His thought process stuttered to a full stop, the pretense of happiness evaporating to a thin wisp of college life sadness. 

“What time is it?” He rasped, holding a vague recollection of what happened last night. He knew he drank his tea, spoke about Hasetsu's iconic ninja house, they watched _The Conjuring_ (persistence had to be a Russian thing), and after that, well.

“It's one in the afternoon,” Viktor said cheerily.

One in the afternoon? No. That’s impossible, says every irresponsible person. “What time did I leave this world?” His voice sounded like a “don't smoke” commercial and his body _refused_ to resuscitate. It would not abandon the sinking serenity of the couch. His laptop, which was perched on the coffee table and plugged to the TV made that distinct Skype bubble pop sound, Mari’s username slightly blurred without his glasses. “Can you pick up the call for me?” It was second nature to be shameless at times like these, but what shocked him more was that Viktor actually _complied_. And was happy about it.

“Yuuri!” 

His mother's voice perked him up in ways coffee never will, but before he could express his happiness to see her or attempt to look slightly functional, Viktor waved at the screen without any preamble. “Hello, Mrs. Katsuki!” If life was meant to be sunshine and roses, Yuuri would have done many things differently. Would have walked instead of taking the bus. Would consume only one chocolate bar, not three. Would have slept when his family told him to. But he couldn’t and he was rendered a sputtering mess as his mother blanched and fanned herself. Yeah, at least he knew he wasn't the only one overwhelmed by Viktor's beauty.

It hurt his self-esteem to sadly slap himself awake since he was currently in his ugliest form. The way his sweater made him look a lot more overweight than usual would be dutifully noted, as well as his visible, pathetic attempt to tame his hair. Ending the call would make everything easier, but Viktor’s soft nudge to the side and encouraging smile stopped him.

“You're not Yuuri!” His mother squeaked. The pixelated resolution couldn't hide the genuine concern in her usual cheeky demeanor.

“I'm here, mom,” he reassured with a weak wave. Viktor's questioning glance made it difficult to concentrate. Simply being stared at unhinged his soul, but was it rude to speak Japanese? It’s not like they were saying anything worth clarifying. With a hand covered smile, Yuuri nodded and tried not to appear guilty. It was odd, but he didn’t mind.

His mom still seemed visibly flustered and there was no remedying that. Once the initial shock was gone, she pressed her face closer to the screen, eyes squinting with the most terrifying inspection he’s ever experienced. Her focus was mostly on his hair, which declared total anarchy for today.

Viktor pointed at his neck with caution, prompting him to hastily lift the collar of his shirt to hide the aftermath. Definitely didn’t want to scare her into leaving Japan to make sure her baby boy was safe and sound. Which he wasn’t and would never be if she found out it was because he worked at a bar.

“So... who is that handsome man, Yuuri?” Her apprehension melted into a devilish smirk that promised a game of twenty questions.

“He’s my roommate. His name is Viktor.” Deliberately forcing nonchalance to salvage his existence made self-imploding an appealing option.

Her wide naughty smile stretched further. Goodness he should hang up, why did he even bother? “Roommate? What happened to Phichit?” Viktor grinned, never leaving the frame and probably catching the gist of the conversation. Which wasn’t that really hard if Yuuri’s mom’s playful winks were anything to go by.

“Uh, he left to Thailand. He was getting homesick and needed a break.”

“Oh, a break for him? Or a break for you to love passionately?”

“Mom!” If anything could get much worse, Mari popped into the screen, uninvited but very determined to be a part of the conversation. She was fluent in English, which meant a dose of humiliation for someone was possible. But before Yuuri could truly stop her, she glued her eyes to Viktor with something akin to approval.

“Is he really your boyfriend?” She asked, words slightly rough but otherwise understandable. A lazy drag from her cigarette meant a customer decided to try her patience this morning, which was nothing new. Mari had always been unpredictable, living on the edge, but this habit Yuuri knew quite well. While he was self-doubting and introspective, she was confident and brash. She did as she pleased, and could instigate so effortlessly Yuuri actually feared leaving the house without her when they were kids. It was great in terms of bullying. No neighborhood classmate dared to prod at his muffin top when Mari was easily the scariest girl on the block, Yuko a close second. But Mari, the Mari right now, he knew was pissed. And it’s not like he purposely avoided contact with his family, or could blame her for being upset. He genuinely forgot that he had interactions and relationships to upkeep, lest they faded away into eternity. It made him seem like a terrible human being sometimes, yet it was always forgiven. Really, it’s been three weeks since his last call to Hasetsu, and there was a lot to talk about. Not that he could say anything with his mother and Viktor around. “No phone calls, no texts or _likes_ on my Instagram pics? Seriously? He must be keeping you busy.” Mari had no mercy as she blew a stream of smoke to the camera for emphasis, and Viktor’s poor attempts to stifle his snickering heated his blush dramatically. He was aware logging out of IG would bite him in the ass someday, and lo and behold, here he was. Hating that he was literally being dragged, but knowing it was definitely well-deserved.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

A shrug. “Day off.”

“First of all, you both know how much I hate it when you speak English and I’m trying to have a good time. And secondly, I’m still here.” Their mother said hotly, her arms crossed as she glared at Mari’s cigarette. That was definitely a warning. Without any hesitation Mari crushed it. He was so happy he wasn’t there to witness that in person.

“Mom, can we talk later? I have to do laundry.” Yuuri said, hoping his earnesty would mask his anxiety.

“Oh, of course, honey! I can’t interrupt the course of love!” She gave him jazz hands before hanging up.

A momentary silence followed until Viktor finally sputtered out a laugh, his eyes brimming with tears. If Yuuri wasn’t so drained, he would’ve thrown his laptop out the window. “Your family is interesting.”

“Yeah, that’s not the word I was thinking of,” Yuuri muttered, rubbing his eyes. Using the couch as support, he stood up and cracked his back, relishing newfound muscular freedom. He was about to say something else to divert his family-induced shame, maybe suggest a quick breakfast at IHOP, when the blaring alarm interrupted this short-lived peace. A distinct smell of _something_ burning announced itself, and Viktor’s notable panicked wheeze had Yuuri alert. Phichit had been a chronic pyromaniac since the dawn of time (when he learned how to turn on a stove), which meant Yuuri was well versed in extinguishing all types of flames and recognizing a crisis when he smelled one. Anything on the stove was a hazard, charred and unmentionable, a risk at all times if Phichit wanted to cook. Viktor, on the other hand, stood rim rod straight and paralyzed, mouth moving but not a sound leaving it. The growing cloud of smoke over the stove jolted him, his previous exhaustion gone as he grabbed the fire extinguisher and aimed it at the pan. Viktor quickly proceeded to open the windows, letting in the brisk air. They assessed the damage and Yuuri could only squeak a sigh of relief. No call to the landlord, thank goodness.

Viktor gazed at the aftermath with incredulity, his hair a bit tousled. What remained was a large charred rock on the saucepan, pitiful and embodying how they felt at the moment. The alarm had a conscience and stopped beeping after a few minutes, followed by Jell-O like tension. Viktor shuffled guiltily, his eyes anywhere but the stove. “Um. I was trying to cook. But I’m very forgetful, and I’m sorry. Your family was nice, and-”

Yuuri picked up the can, trying hard not to laugh. “You were cooking tomatoes?”

The heavy flush on Viktor’s cheeks was unmistakable. “Trying is the word I used, Yuuri.”

“You can’t cook?”

“Well, I watched several videos on YouTube. And ordered a cookbook online. It was supposed to work theoretically—”

“What did you eat before?” Viktor appeared well fed. Definitely not skipping any meals.

“I had a meal plan, but I figured I could learn since I have a kitchen.”

Expecting that mediocre response, Yuuri sighed and was compelled to be a human being. It’s been a while since he’s touched the refrigerator or made katsudon. And this situation definitely called for katsudon. “Go sit down, I’ll make something.”

“Don’t you have class?”

He assessed the contents of the fridge, humming. “Yeah, but the day is practically over.”

Viktor didn’t look convinced, his frown deepening when the only consumable thing was a mango. And even that seemed far too disgustingly ripe. “Let’s go grocery shopping,” he suggested.

The empty cabinets agreed. “Right now?”

Viktor grinned, and Yuuri brushed off how much it briefly disarmed him. “Of course! I’ll gladly pay if it means a home cooked meal.”

“…Okay.”

-

They took an Uber to get to the closest market with products he was familiar with. It was sunny and cloudless, which made the trees entrancing and fall a lot more inviting. But Viktor's overexcitement made this trip seem like a tropical getaway, enough that Yuuri covered his face when leaving the car and thought of his bank account.

The cart they picked struggled to remain steady, but a firm grip prevented any accidental crashing. He didn’t hesitate when there was gelatin on sale, putting three packs of those along with some cookies. God, he loved lychee flavored anything. His mother knew that, and he didn’t feel like calling her to know exactly what brand she preferred when choosing the hon-mirin. Katsudon wouldn’t take long to make since he’s pretty sure he had some bread crumbs. They walked and stopped by every aisle, reading nutritional facts, taking in the sales. It comforted him to hear some Mandarin here and there, a bit of rapid Japanese. It felt too cathartic to be a katsudon mission.

Viktor was adding stuff of his own, things like a cat mug and chocolate. Interestingly enough, Yuuri was not an impulsive shopper. He calculated every cent to the tenth, and Viktor was more emotional when it came to this process. Whatever tickled his fancy went in the cart, which made sneaking stuff back on the shelves a duty. He wasn't doing this for Viktor, but for Viktor's checking account. “This is turning into an expensive purchase,” Yuuri hinted, putting a pack gelatin on a random shelf and eyeing the candy Viktor had in his hands. “The cart’s getting heavy.”

Shrugging, Viktor waved his hand dismissively. “I told you I’d pay for it.” 

“No. We’re splitting this,” Yuuri said, pushing ahead to find the soy sauce. Like hell he’ll make Viktor pay for his gelatin. Or those snacks. Debt was the worst thing and knowing he’s casually indulging himself so freely at the moment made his stomach simmer with guilt for his own wallet.

“You revised my paper. And I got a pretty good grade, so I think I can repay you this way.”

Yuuri’s entire face flushed. He didn’t expect Viktor to be quite stubborn over groceries. “That’s different. It didn’t require money to do that.”

“It required time, and considering every _time_ I see you, you’re either working or coming back from work. It must be hard. And I don’t like debt either.” The last bit was murmured quietly, a quietness Yuuri didn’t think Viktor was capable of. This man was robust and bold, anything other than that felt wrong.

“That-there’s time for everything,” he croaked, pent up with emotion that hit him out of nowhere. Of course, it was hard. Everything was hard, but that’s life, isn’t it? Working is essential, anything less than that could threaten his livelihood right now.

Viktor smiled wryly. “Time is money, Yuuri. Especially in this country.”

An inevitable defeat preceded what he knew would be a migraine later tonight. The rush of his thoughts was similar to an intense game of Monopoly, and to know he’s in the market buying ingredients for katsudon while feeling emotional almost made this tale worth telling Phichit. “I’ll fix your papers and anything else for the rest of the semester.” If it meant eating the gelatin without an anchor in his chest.

“That’s reasonable.”

-

The run to the rink was a long one. Wind swept his hair back and the thin layer of sweat jostled his glasses to the tip of his nose. His lashes were slightly dusted with salt, but his lip balm was an ultimate savior.

What amazed him was the absolute emptiness of the rink and how heavy his breathing seemed. Walks of isolation always cleansed him to the core. These sudden bouts of solitude were always necessary, unless he wanted to explode surrounded by massive groups of people. Being alone used to agitate him, especially when unwanted thoughts invaded his space, but it takes time to find comfort in the unfiltered. Ever since that morning, it made him wonder why keeping tabs on people was an impossible task. It’s not that hard to reach out, Skype always popped up when he turned on his laptop. But even with Phichit, the only person who’s seen him cry over a Build-A-Bear and vomit shots of fireball, well. They haven’t spoken in weeks. And the only glaring visual of that was how his contact name lost its yellow smiley face on Snapchat.

It was an abomination on his part. Their friendship was never brittle, but Phichit knew his habits, and his habit of detachment had to be his number one vice. But with some people, they easily compensate for Yuuri’s lack of social initiative. Viktor struck him a lot this way, like Yuko.

It would have embarrassed him a few days ago to demand Viktor to do anything in the house, but Viktor loved doing _everything_. It was almost terrifying.

If Yuuri forgot to put the cap on his toothpaste, Viktor would take care of that. If Yuuri left a sock in the middle of the room, Viktor would pick it up and throw it in the hamper. Would wash Yuuri's dirty dishes, tuck his eye contact solution safely in the medicine cabinet, place the cereal in its designated place, remind Yuuri to moisturize his face. And the thing was—

He liked it. A lot. Viktor's overbearing kindness made him feel bad, and a now guilty part of him was suspicious at first. No one can be that nice.

But Viktor didn’t mind filling in the constant overlooked gaps, and Yuuri appreciated someone like that. Who would’ve known that Mr. Nice Eyes, Viktor, or Vitya as he was often called by his family during their Skype phone calls, was over layered with niceties and bypassed Yuuri’s faults.

> **The Mighty Pistachio** : missssss youuuuuu!!!!! remember that you have friends lol ;)

He sighed, and texted back:

> _Miss u too pistachio_

Maybe his limited network of people meant more to him than he could ever verbalize, but no one can say he didn’t try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking back at this, and I'm suffering with my overwhelming mediocrity (seriously the first chapter is terrible). Heads up, my summaries will be unique™. Also publishing another YOI "oneshot" soon. Are these one-chaptered thingies still called "one shots" ????? I was in a creative rut  
> As for revising, idk. [tumblr](http://dicktatorial.tumblr.com/)


	4. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peppa Pig is a pig and the titular main character of the series. She likes jumping in muddy puddles (tradition of the pigs). She lives with her little brother George and their parents under the same house. she has many friends, but Rebecca Rabbit is her best friend (although Peppa becomes best friends with Brianna Bear after Rebecca ditches Peppa for Pedro Pony in Poppies and Puddles). It is depicted that she is the leader and tactical planner of a gang consisted of Suzy, Danny and Pedro. She is currently 7 years old (known in the episode "My Birthday Party") and is in the playgroup with her little brother. Her favourite game is jumping in mud puddles and spends all day doing it. Her favourite toy is a stuffed bear named Teddy, her bear rarely seems to be a boy but is a girl. The character's design was created by the creators of the series: Neville Astley and Mark Baker.

He ripped the seal off, carefully placing the pumpkin on the glass. Assessed his handiwork and pressed off any air bubbles with his middle finger, because it had to be perfect. Why Yuko put off decorating the café was beyond him, and of course there was no better timing than Halloween itself. Not to mention she physically couldn’t now that she was sick.

Sick and at home, probably being coddled by Takeshi while he manned the café and took care of everything. Granted, it was and wasn’t their busiest day. He would be handing out candy rather than preparing lattes, but still. It meant putting off his lesson planning for the dance workshops. He flushed the blenders with water, assorted the teas of the day, and even disinfected the door. And that’s how he knew he had time to kill.

Viktor took the liberty to decorate their apartment already, hanging fake cobwebs and placing a large fake tarantula on the toilet Yuuri didn’t appreciate seeing in the mornings. Speaking of mornings, although Yuuri wasn’t well-equipped to wake up at ungodly hours (eight AM to be more specific), he still did. And that’s because takeout became his new best friend, not to mention Viktor’s friend Chris worked at a sushi restaurant a block away from their apartment. Chris happened to be the same beautiful person he met at the bar the other night. The night of The Great Chokening as he liked to say when handing over Yuuri’s order. “I’ll make sure to show Viktor your moves,” he had whispered with a wink, giving Yuuri a pumpkin spice muffin for good measure.

He didn’t know how much more pumpkin spice anything he could take, but he tried to get into the Halloween spirit and ignore the suggestion altogether. A horror movie marathon waited for him once he got home, courtesy of Viktor of course. He could only wonder what Christmas had in store for them, and the thought alone of Viktor hanging ornaments while wearing an elf hat made him smile. As much as the Halloween spirit was important, it also meant the Halloween parties were ready to claim the entire campus in the form of sexy bunnies and firefighters. Yuuri has seen everything, and some guilty part of him looked forward to the performances that would happen tomorrow during his shift.

But right now, he had bigger worries. With movies to be exact.

‘Goodnight Mommy’ didn’t seem so bad until he saw the trailer, and now he wasn’t so sure he really wanted to subject himself to nightmares for the next two weeks. If he told Viktor that, he knew they’d watch something cliché, which Yuuri was against as well. There was no win-win.

“Just make up your mind. I don’t think Viktor will appreciate you being a baby when you have to go to the bathroom. Remember last year? That was terrible.” Phichit’s potato chip bag crinkled and Yuuri could hear every bite. This was a sad, nonconsensual session of ASMR.

“Why are you like this?”

The sound of Phichit choking made him laugh as he continued to grind the coffee beans. “Me? You’re the one who’s having this movie night dilemma, and all I’m doing is eating chips. We’re on Skype, Yuuri. And I’m hungry.”

“Well I’m alone, here in this dark world. Smelling coffee and watching children trick-or-treating across the street.”

A sigh. “You didn’t have class today at least. And it must suck to be Yuko if you think about it. Imagine getting sick on Halloween or Christmas. The two arguably best days in American society.”

“I’m a Buddhist.”

“So am I. Yuuri, if I was there, I swear to my hamsters I would slap you. _So_ hard.”

He heard the bell jingle and sure enough, a customer. An actual person he had to interact with. “Gotta go, duty calls,” he whispered.

“Sure, sure. It’s probably _Viktor_ since you sound too excited—“

He clicked ‘end’ so fast because, well.

Phichit wasn’t wrong.

“You’re mothering the ship I see,” Viktor said, his smile widening at the utter emptiness of the café. The movie has an 86% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, Yuuri reminded himself. And they’re making pumpkin spice cookies, so maybe it won’t be that bad.

Yuuri pointed at his apron. “I’m the captain. Just for today.” He felt his grin freeze. Behind Viktor was Yuri, the other Yuri. Yurio. And he didn’t look happy.

“This is who you’re always talking about? He’s your roommate and you never told me?”

Now his bartender persona and barista persona were different. In the bar, he was not a marshmallow, not entirely warm. He styled his hair and wore contacts, all black, and never a weak smile. Because there were no games to be played when he was serving alcohol, then again, there were no games when fixing people’s coffee either. There was definitely a parallel to “I want my cocktail sugar rimmed with an extra green lime slice on top, hold the cherry” and “I want a medium macchiato, one shot of espresso and three sugars, extra caramel, hold the whip cream”. Yurio has mostly seen him in the latter, which did explain why he was looked at with a mix of playful contempt and judgement. “You want me to look over your paper or are you here for the coffee? I’m won’t card you so don’t let that stop anything.”

“Oh my god, you little fucking weasel-“

“Yuri. Don’t,” Viktor cut in sternly. “Be nice, we’re at a family-friendly establishment.” Yuuri eyed the bag of takeout in Viktor’s hand, and now he knew why they were both here. Because he was a kind soul and an eager glutton, he pointed the remote at the TV screen and logged into Netflix. “The Office,” Viktor confirmed and proceeded to drape his sweater on one of the chairs. “And a caramel latte, whip cream, medium.”

“I’m not ordering anything,” Yurio hissed with crossed arms. “You dragged me out of my house just so you could feed this idiot. I thought we were going to the park.”

Viktor flipped the bird without a second thought and flexed his arm. “Oh, please. You only came because Otabek isn’t coming back until midnight.”

Gunshots. “That’s right, Viktor. Drag him.” Any potential physical or verbal retaliation stopped when children watered in and dispersed like weeds. An avalanche of tiny princesses and Mario’s. “Hand out the candy, Yurio,” Yuuri ordered, sliding the bowl of lollies across the counter. “Happy smiles,” he added, and plucked three pairs of cat ears from the drawers. It was terrifying, but damn it if his ten bucks went down the drain for no reason. He had never seen a human being try so hard to contain himself, and even more so as relentless children and peppy parents lined up with the expectation of receiving candy and a warm welcome. Yuuri coughed and paused the episode.

Well. At least he won’t be reeling in loneliness for the rest of his shift. Viktor shot him a wink, and like the first time, he tried hard to keep his cool.

-

“Well?”

Yuuri blinked, adding another spoon of sugar in his cappuccino. “What?”

Yurio had three cups of coffee already, courtesy of Yuuri of course, but Halloween came to a full standstill after their last wave of kids. That was around an hour ago, and it was midnight. He kept a straight face and gave Viktor a discreet thumbs-up. “Isn’t it closing time? We’ve been here for hours and I don’t think any pipsqueaks will be trick-or-treating this late. I’m starving and I want to eat. Eat out.”

Viktor spat his drink, and banged the table with his fist. He already looked disheveled from how frequently he ran a hand through hair, which Yuuri will admit, was pretty attractive every time. “Eat out? A double-player much? I thought you were with Otabek.” It was Yuuri’s turn to accidentally inhale a giant gulp of hot liquid and spray it through his nose. He brought a dishcloth to his face and ignored the fact that his nose hairs probably no longer existed. Viktor was by his side in an instant, his expression apologetic. “Are you okay?” He asked. Of course Viktor would be sorry for making him laugh.

“I-I’m fine. That was gross.” His eyes watered a bit, but otherwise, he appreciated the universe right now.

“I hate you both so much. I can see why you’re obsessed with each other. Fucking cocks.” Yuri sniffed, pouting and leaning on his arm like the baby he really was.

Yuuri deflected the potential awkwardness with a wink at Viktor. “That’s a pretty heavy claim. But we won’t be closing until two AM so you better cheer up,” he said. It was a lie. They were supposed to leave in fifteen minutes, and Yuuri already turned off the oven. Then again, he loved picking on Yuri simply because he was so easy to anger, and Viktor’s banter made it a lot better. They watched two seasons of "The Office", a few episodes of "Black Mirror", and now it was Peppa Pig on the screen. Viktor _loved_ Peppa Pig, which already gave Yuuri Christmas/birthday ideas.

“You’re lying.”

“Yuuri never lies,” Viktor chimed in. “He’s the most beautifully honest person I know.”

“Fuck off.”

Yuuri pointedly offered a warning by removing his glasses. “Swear jar. A penny,” he said.

“That’s a tip jar.”

Silence stretched on save for Peppa’s cute British voice and a penny drop. Yuuri finished rinsing the blender and wiping down the counters, leaving no room for a mess. Not that anyone was really here today besides Viktor and Yuri, but old habits and compulsory duties do complete him. He untied his apron and cleaned his glasses, offering Viktor a lollipop that was graciously taken. “Where do you want to eat?” He asked, fully aware that Viktor was also starving. Except he did a much better job at not complaining.  

Viktor gasped dramatically. “Are you, Sir Yuuri, offering to take us somewhere? To feed us?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty late but I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t hungry. And you did come to feed me so. You know.”

Yuri finally decided to contribute to the conversation with a smug grin. “We did, didn’t we? This is great. Let’s go to that diner, it’s like three blocks away from here.”

Viktor stifled a snicker. “I thought Otabek was waiting for you.”

“He is, but I’ll bring him something. Barbecue wings, maybe. He loves those.” Yuuri still had no idea how those two managed to hit it off, or when to be exact. Still, it was nice knowing that they were both capable of friendship.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Yuuri said, shrugging on his jean jacket. “For Otabek.”

“For Otabek,” Viktor repeated, ruffling Yuuri’s hair.

They left the café after Yuuri made sure to lock the register, count the sales for today, and reactivate the security camera. It came with a sense of finality that the day was over. The night was his. Stepping out felt like freedom, _was_ freedom, but he knew Yuko was definitely down right now. There’s no way she could be awake. And he wanted to compensate Viktor in some way since he was essentially Yuuri’s mom now, or had mom tendencies but the spirit of a fun uncle. “Are you cold?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri stopped him with a glare.

“I’m not, and please wear your sweater. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I have the immune system of a mule.”

“And you look like one,” Yuri snorted.

“It’s only three blocks! Behaving isn’t hard.” It was a miracle they made it anywhere in one piece. And Yuuri was right, as always. It wasn’t a far walk, but the hole in the wall establishment was worth the temporary chill. “After you,” Viktor crooned, his charisma almost too eighteenth century-ish for Yuuri not to wear a bonnet.

The lighting was terrible, but he supposed an intimate atmosphere was what they were going for. It was Halloween and that was enough to warrant absolute darkness. They let Yuri choose the booth, a four-seater. Viktor sat next to him, obviously, and they glanced at the paper menu until a waitress approached them with a warm smile. There was so much to choose from, but nothing heavy he promised himself. “Good evening, gentlemen. I will be your server on this lovely Halloween. Should we get started on drinks or are you ready to order?” Her voice had no trace of exhaustion either, and Yuuri was grateful about that. He knew how overbearing customers were, especially at this hour.

“I just want a club sandwich. Barbecue wings to go,” Yuri said curtly without glancing at the menu. His thin fingers smoothed out the napkin-wrapped cutlery. The waitress nodded and Yuuri took it as his cue.

“Alright. There’s not many places open at this time, I bet this was your last choice but not a bad one if I say so myself.”

“Not really, no. We were definitely in the mood for this,” Viktor said, still concentrating on appetizers.

“You-” she stared squarely at Yuuri- “should try the Chinese restaurant near the highway. It’s pretty good. The Chinese love it, they tell me all the time,” she tittered on, her pen still posed on the pad. “But I don’t think it’s open right now.”

Yuuri pressed his hands on his lap and kept neutrality on his face, customer-service style. He already didn’t like where this was going. Sure, he knew the woman meant no harm, but really? His first year in this country was the hardest, especially with his thick accent and verbal stumbling. Hiring a coach was the best decision he ever made in terms of transitioning, which Yuko had also done before him. His parents paid for these sessions where he mastered the nuances of the English language, especially the L’s. Those were hard. And once he was successful, he assumed whatever barriers he had were over. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. Um, I would like to order the bacon burger, the one with peanut sauce. But no tomatoes, please.”

“The peanut sauce isn’t weird as people always say, it goes well with the bacon. Believe me, I know you Asians enjoy it. Anything to drink?” She spoke loudly, a little too loudly to be considered polite, but Yuuri caught sight of the hearing aid.

“Someone’s wig is about to be snatched,” he heard Yuri hiss under his breath. “If she keeps-“

“Don’t,” Yuuri said through gritted teeth. “We are _not_ going to cause a scene.”

Viktor was uncharacteristically quiet, but his expression spat it all. “We’re leaving,” he said with a finality that was hard to argue with, but Yuuri was grateful he was calm about it.

He gave the menu a final onceover and because he knew he was the real mom in this squad, he assured the old woman with a hesitant smile. He hated confrontation, especially when it could easily get ugly. He didn’t doubt Yurio about the wig-snatching either, and he was not prepared to get aggressive on Halloween. “We’ll be going, actually. Thank you for, um, everything. Sorry.”

They closed the menus and Yuri’s contempt was difficult to ignore with the way he stormed out. Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let him cool off.”

The woman ripped the page off her pad with a small ‘O’. “It’s fine. Have a happy Halloween, boys.”  

Viktor kept steering him to the exit with very little reservation. Yuuri waved her goodbye and ignored the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. So much for three blocks and being hungry. “I can’t believe you’re still being polite,” Viktor muttered under his breath. “But you know what, we could just get some pizza. And-” he grinned- “we won’t watch ‘Goodnight Mommy’ since I’m pretty sure you were never keen on the idea in the first place.”

Yuuri shuddered at the thought. Was he that transparent? “I don’t like being a killjoy.”

“I know. Based on what we just witnessed, I’m sure that even if she slapped you, you’d be the one apologizing. So let’s not be selfless tonight.”

A laugh was inevitable. Yuri waited for them, his posture resembling an angry wet cat. “That hag killed my appetite. But my boy still wants wings.”

“Your boy?” Viktor didn’t bother, only rubbed his temple and opened the Yelp app. “If our mission is to feed ‘your boy’, then the nearest place is like a ten-minute walk. Four stars.”

“Both of you are testing me and I’m hungry. My treat, part two.” Yuuri snapped his fingers, exhaustion refusing to come to him. Maybe Halloween was firing him up, but he wasn’t complaining. Not when Viktor was trying hard not to smile.

-

Mornings where he wondered what he was doing with his life were becoming more frequent. Needless to say, so were his nights. It had been a while since he’d been in this mellow bliss, where life was generally okay and he had nothing to complain about other than minor inconveniences. Like running out of toothpaste.

“Just use mine, you’re going to be late.”

Viktor was right, as per usual. “Right.” He brushed his teeth a little too aggressively, but he had things to do, places to be. He choreographed a few routines for the kids, liking the idea of 80s/90s hip hop or pop. Nothing too complex since these were kids after all.

“Don’t be nervous. Stop that,” Viktor yelled from the kitchen. “Just don’t mess up. Don’t even think about it. Everything has to be perfect. Remember? You’re a failure, and nothing else. Nobody likes you. You might as well go back to Japan, adopt a cat. Live in the mountains.”

“Why are you like this?” He couldn’t find his glasses and contacts weren’t an option

“I’m just trying to have the Yuuri experience,” Viktor said breezily.

“That,” Yuuri murmured, “is impossible.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you’re great at balancing the multi-faceted complexities of your life. You can ignore racist ladies, but also juggle academics and jobs, pay rent, make five AM runs work, and you’re not going to believe this, but you’re basically a pre-med major, but with animals instead of humans.” Viktor whistled. “Now that, that is the Yuuri experience.”

“You should’ve been an English major. You have the romanticism.”

“Don’t utter thy blasphemy. And hurry up, the Uber’s outside.”

They were supposed to leave together, but Viktor was terrible when it came to waking up. Even more than Yuuri was which said something. He was scheduled to teach his ice skating lessons later, and Yuuri had to go now. The entire living room smelled like coffee, and because Viktor was Viktor, there was a thermos waiting for him on the counter. “Don’t be late,” Yuuri warned, closing the door behind him.  

He rushed to get in the car. Every minute was a wasted second, and by the time he reached the studio there were two women with four kids. “Hello,” he said with a grin, unlocking the door.

They shook his hand and sat on the designated bench. Mostly moms were going to show up, and he was okay with that. He connected the HDMI cable to the speaker and scrolled through his warm up playlist. “We’ll just wait for the rest to show up.” He let the pen dangle from the clipboard as he passed it around. Everybody had to sign in since the first meeting always had the highest turnout. The two girls watched his every move, until one of them was bold enough to speak. “Are you going to teach us cool moves?”

He smiled. “Of course! You can only get better if you practice, but we can’t start until you take off your shoes.” They eagerly followed his directions and as more parents came in, the cubby leaned forward and the bench finally had love after months of solitude. He introduced himself to everyone in the room, explained the basic rules of respect, and what their schedule will look like for the next two months. Some kids still needed to turn in recent physicals so he made a note to meet with their legal guardian for that paperwork.

There was a lot to do, and he was glad he came fully prepared and caffeinated. He had a selection of ten songs, and they had to choose three. Three sets of dance programs, but he wasn’t surprised when “Thriller” by Michael Jackson made the cut. It was always a classic, but he knew what moves to keep. Minako-sensei will hopefully come fill in an add her touch like she did every year.

It all went well like Viktor said it would, and he concluded their first class with the chicken dance. The parents weren’t overbearing and the kids seemed pretty happy to be here. He looked at his watch and yep, he was right. Viktor should be starting his session soon and he was excited to see what would be happening on the rink. Wiping his glasses, he made sure to do a final stretch. Everyone left the room, their good-bye’s breezy and pleased. “Sorry, but can I speak to you for a moment?”

He blinked and paused the music. “Of course.”

The woman smiled tentatively and played with her daughter’s curls. “I won’t be able to make it to one practice, but I just wanted to make sure about the third session policy?”

Yakov still hadn’t set up the website so he knew this would definitely be a creeping concern for the next few classes. “We usually ask parents to be present for the first three sessions, just to get a gist of what we’re doing and to be some sort of support. But if she feels comfortable being by herself, that’s fine. All she really needs are loose clothes and a water bottle.” The woman nodded with a look of relief and Yuuri was glad that was out of the way.

“Thank you! I just wanted to make sure. See you next class.” She dug into her purse and handed her daughter a tissue as they headed out. Yuuri watched them leave and tried hard not to scramble downstairs. He stuffed his papers in his bag and slipped on his shoes, hating how impatient his adrenaline made him feel.

The elevator would take longer so he took the stairs and ignored Georgi’s questioning glance. His exasperation with the stapler was quite clear with how he slammed it down with a loud thud. Why he was still a receptionist here was beyond a mystery. But that didn’t matter right now because Yuuri had other priorities. His imagination became reality as the rink and the temperature drop soothed his sweaty body. Viktor was holding a boy’s hand and easing him to the center. His larger hand easily enveloped the small clenched fist, and the boy’s hesitation was clear in the way he stiffly pressed his legs together. “Yuuri!”

Pressing his glasses to his face, he waved and decided that leaving was definitely not an option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but finals are gross and other stuff inspired me. Next chapter will be in Yuri-centric and I'm pretty excited about that! This will have a priority over future projects since I've been neglecting it for so long :^(


	5. Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cats and ShopRite. Yuri is officially disgusted.

Yuri held a hair clip with one hand, and shook the hairspray bottle with the other. He was pretty sure class started fifteen minutes ago but the state of his hair screamed importance. It parted right in the middle, he styled it so his bangs would curtain to the sides, exposing his (in his humble opinion) nice eyes.

If he couldn’t do anything about the structure of his face, he might as well do something about his hair. It was sad, if he wanted to be honest. He thought that by the time he turned nineteen his delicate and youthful features would mold themselves to be square, masculine, chiseled.

Like Viktor.

Only the most undeserving of people looked divine, and he was proven right the moment Viktor opened his mouth when they first met (a stupid pun escaped his idiotic mind). It was in St. Petersburg, Yuri still thirteen and discovering his love for felines, particularly tigers and cats. Anything that purred if he must be honest.

His grandfather would indulge him with stuffed plushies and tiger printed shirts until he was old enough to understand that it was particularly embarrassing to look like a school project in the streets of town. After his grandmother passed away, his grandfather had more time in his hands to enrich Yuri’s life. They strolled in the streets of snow, had silent reading sessions at the library, stopped by the local merchants for ptichye moloko. Discussed stories of melancholy and Yuri’s particularly heated temper.

It was his grandfather who suggested he leave Russia, a thought so abominable he couldn’t believe it was proposed in the first place. “Go to the States,” he had said with a stern, but crinkled smile. “You might find something better. Make your own destiny, something like that.”

“Is it because of the Nikiforovs’ son?” He couldn’t help but sound bitter. Why would he leave home? His grandmother-less grandfather of all people.

“He’s doing well there. Their international student program is for the gifted.”

Yuri’s mind decelerated at ‘gifted’. He could be goddamn gifted, he could conquer the world if he put his mind to it, prove his family proud, step into the unknown and make it his bitch. Extensive English classes later, as well as commendable grades, he was in the airport, not at all surprised that he was accepted into the university without a stuttering dead end. He had never left his country even to vacation, and now he was here, in an airport full of nameless people going to namely places. A fork in the road, and now he picked a path. Viktor looked stupid in his huge jacket, holding a sign of a poorly drawn cat if Yuri said so himself. It took a while to get used to this attention-seeking city. So similar, but drastically different to home. Viktor loved to parade him in the downtown district, fawn over American cuisine, point out the most mundane of things as if Yuri was a tourist, not permanent resident. “Look, Yura. These Americans drive on the left side. Can you believe that?”

Yuri had said nothing and bit his burger aggressively, a little miffed that he actually liked it. But what truly made him fall in love with America, with his school, his new beginnings, were the cat cafés. Cat cafés existed, and he could be inside them, twenty dollars a session. He liked the one in the Lower East Side, a repeat offender and a proud one at that. He also joined the Cat Club, much to his shame. That was a private secret, and one he didn’t reveal easily.

For a while, he stuck to Viktor and used him as a compass in this ever-changing place. There was so much to see and experience clearly, but one thing remained consistent and it was his inability to make friends or acquaintances. He looked approachable, but he’s often been told (by Viktor primarily) that he ruined all prospects of friendship the moment he opened his mouth.

Any first exchanging of words meant Yuri would use one expletive, at least one. Off-putting for some, not to mention his accent made it sound a lot more aggressive than intended. This was definitely tested when he was paired up with the other Yuuri in his class.

This Yuuri never spoke much but he was definitely the professor’s favorite. Always fisting the readings and spitting out good analysis for the whole class to write down. Yuri didn’t like him and could only picture a parallel universe where he didn’t exist. This Yuuri could be Yuuri in class and he had been rechristened Yurio. As if he was _inferior_ (not really, the professor explained that it would make grading online submissions easier and Plisetsky happened to be after Katsuki).

“Do you want me to look at grammar as well?” Katsuki asked, his disposition so pleasant and friendly it was surreal. His glasses perched nice and straight, to his crisp t-shirt, acne-free skin, the way his neat handwriting could almost be an official font. Yuri wanted to squeeze him like a python, watch him fail handling a kitten.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you?”

Katsuki blinked, the corner of his lip twitched but he didn’t seem offended. “Okay,” he said. They sat in complete silence, the only sound coming from Katsuki’s scratching pen on paper. And he wasn’t stopping. There couldn’t be that many mistakes on his essay, why the hell was he writing so much?

But Yuri brushed it off because he was a ManTM and looked at Katsuki’s essay, struggling to find a grammatical error at least. Nothing. Even his ideas were spot on, all absolute perfection and connected to the assigned prompt. What was he supposed to say? _Good job, even though I hate you? Fuck you, but great grammar?_

The timer beeped and they swapped papers again. Buzz in the room began and Yuri couldn’t help the gasp, the outrage. What a fuckening. His soul floated away, projected into another dimension that made an A+ in English impossible.

_Your thesis is strong, but your textual evidence isn’t. I recommend using the quote on page 53. Transitions could use work. Run-on. Word choice? Think about the structure of your whole essay, it seems more like a collection of parts than a consistent whole. Wrong citation. Are you sure the narrator is liberated? He ends up where he started, and continues to do what caused his plight in the first place. He developed, but liberation doesn’t mean change. Overall, solid ideas and great thesis, can’t wait to see your final draft._

“Katsuki. What’s your email?”

He was in awe, his paper had been absolutely mutilated but in the best way possible. Katsuki readjusted his glasses, his frown brimmed with hesitation. “Yuuri,” he said, his voice small.

Was that a rejection? “Yes or no?”

“No, I mean, yes.” His face burned crimson. “I mean, just call me Yuuri. Not Katsuki. And my email is my full name at Gmail. Do you want me to write it down?”

If Yuuri was a cat, he would be a calico. He didn’t know why he had this thought, but _Yuuri_ was nice. A shy motherfucker, but nice and forgiving. He expected an uptight little skunk, a know-it-all boob, but he was so unhatable it hurt. Yuri officially felt like a Bad Human and tried to compensate his shortcomings with a hesitant thumbs-up. Change the footing, steer the conversation somewhere else. “I like cats,” he said unthinkingly and hated himself for it in less than a second. Bastet, take him now.

No. Never mind. Yuri Plistesky never takes back what he says.

Yuuri opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly not expecting those words to be the gateway that would unlock their cat-based friendship. “So do I. I’m a pre-vet major so I volunteer at the cat shelter sometimes.”

The clouds parted, and suddenly, Yuuri Katsuki was The Man. The Man with the Answers. A friend, there was potential to have a friendship garden here. It didn’t surprise him a month later (it did, tremendously) when he approached the booth of liquor. Ridiculous since he knew he could indulge back home, but here he wasn’t legally allowed to. But maybe the bartender would be a buddy, a kind soul in this holy grail. Understand his Russian needs.

“A daiquiri, please.”

“ID?”

Shit. Sitting sober in a club waiting for Mila to finish dancing was out of the question. It wasn’t a low-lit ambience of intimacy, quite the opposite. The entire space cascaded itself in a yellow spotlight that offered plenty of people to speak to, but the bartender looked at him with no sign of wavering. Except the bartender had the same lip twitch, same boyish face. The glasses were gone, but still. His gut told him he was right. As expected (not really, the familiar tattoo on Yuuri’s wrist was a giveaway). “Katsuki?” What a definite plot twist. He could see him do any other job, barista or cashier, but not in a place like this, making people alcoholic drinks. “Seriously?”

Recognition crossed those features, before Yuuri’s frown hardened. “I still need your ID, Yurio,” he said, expression not changing. Betrayal and irritation sledgehammered him at the worst possible time. Betrayal, because they were friends, they were classmates, they were _email buddies_. Irritation, because it should be self-explanatory. The alcohol.

“I’m old enough,” he bit out.

Yuuri sighed and straightened the collar of his shirt as if he’s done this a million times before. “I could get in trouble. Do you want apple juice instead?”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

That earned him a short laugh. “Not really.”

Yuri sat on the squeaky barstool and let his hostility squander. If he asked nicely, he might as well try gradual persuasion. He could guilt trip Viktor to fulfill his most ridiculous desires. If there was anything his baby face was good for, it was to get life his way. But an hour passed, two hours. Mila earned a pretty good turnout tonight. Her showcased golden strapped one-piece and routine itself radiated sensuality. There was no hesitance in the twist of her hips. “She’s a goddess,” Yuuri murmured, nursing a margarita. Anything by Britney Spears made the audience throw money like it was rice, and Mila showed no sign of stopping.

Another fifteen minutes flashed by and Yuuri not once faltered. Or offered him a drink. His mouth felt dry and the apple juice only mocked him in its little shot glass. As if he was playing Pretend Adult. From what he’s observed, Yuuri was a few drinks in already, his tolerance must be unusually high if he still churned out cocktail after cocktail to patrons without stumbling. “You don’t have anything else besides apple juice?” He fluttered his lashes, letting his cheeks puff up. Kittens and pouts were universally endearing.

Yuuri shot him a stern look, unimpressed. “We’ve been through this. Don’t make me give you plain water instead.”   

“I will end you, you piece of-“

The walkie labeled ‘SECURITY’ was in Yuuri’s hand in an instant.

“-nice person, looking out for me legally. Thanks.”

“I suggest you don’t go into marketing,” Yuuri said plainly, mojito in hand. This was not the Yuuri he knew, this was a monster. He could not believe his luck, his cute face never failed but his respect for this tomato wannabe definitely had a foundation now. Two hours down the drain in this glorified dance hall, and Mila was still collecting bills like one would collect rocks. “But you know what,” Yuuri drawled, his humanity finally showing in the form of flushed cheeks, “I can fix your paper. Just email it to me or whatever. I’m clocking out in a few.” With a final sip from his drink, he whistled and out from the backdoor came a shorter, red-haired man. The way he bowed made it obvious who was the senior here. “Always card, you hear me? No exceptions,” Yuuri said, loosening his shirt. “I’m leaving. Be a good boy, Yuri. Minami.”

And he was. A good boy, that is. He didn’t harass the new kid or throw any side-eyes. He just looked at Mila as she strutted across the hall with another woman he didn’t recognize. Yuuri left the bar without looking back, only patting the security guard as a mom would kiss her kid good-bye at school. But whatever was said to the security guard, it made Yuri nervous. The guard turned around to look at him, gaze stone serious and severe. Nodding as it they made a secret agreement, the guard turned his back and continued to survey the area.

That’s it. He’ll call it a night and pray Mila’s forgiveness for ditching her. He grabbed his hoodie and headed to the exit as if he wouldn’t live to see another day. It’s not like he was scared or anything.

But the guard’s muscles, well. They could easily slam-dunk him. He did take that into account.

He told Viktor this, but Viktor being Viktor, ignored him in a special way. “There’s a thin line between lust and fear, my Yuri,” he said with utter concentration on the screen. He was winning this level and definitely not turning away any time soon.

“Idiot. It’s love and hate. And why would I lust over some stranger’s muscles?”

Viktor hummed. “The question is why wouldn’t you?”

This was why he never complained in front of Viktor. Everything he said or did could easily become homoerotic and made serious conversations practically impossible. So he decided to rummage through Viktor’s backpack instead, see what he could find. Maybe some candy or cash. But no, all he discovered were essays, many having a ‘C-’ and lots of red inked criticism. “Your writing is shit.”

Viktor paused the game, absolutely affronted. “What?” Of course he would stop whatever he was doing to protect his pride. “I do good for someone whose first language isn’t English.”

“You do _well_ , you turd,” Yuri corrected. “And I know this guy-“

“ _Do_ tell.” Viktor crooned, sin smile in place. At least that’s what he called it since Viktor did have a catalogue to choose from.

“He’s a classmate and he gets A’s all the time. He’ll be fixing my rough draft.”

“You made me pause my game for this?”

Yuri knew he could be a shitty human being, just let Viktor rot in pre-requisite hell, but they were in this country together, and failure meant more money down the trash. They might as well set the dorm on fire and dance over the ashes. That’ll be a one-way ticket to Russia they won’t have to pay for. “Shut the fuck up. Do you want something better than a C?”

“It would be stupid to say no,” Viktor said humorlessly, eyes drifting to the screen again.

“But you are stupid.”

“You come into _my_ dorm, to insult _my_ bohemian lifestyle-“

“Email that shit, he’ll look it over.”

 It’s not like Yuuri could say no. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t. That was a great blanket of security to have at a time like this. Yuri popped his bubblegum and perused through Viktor’s desk, finding nothing particularly interesting in there either. He had nowhere else to go right now, and he definitely didn’t want to head to the library for deathly silence. There weren’t that many people he knew who would welcome his untimely appearance, and not many people he knew in general. Viktor would never have such an issue like this, and Yuri resorted to watch him play videogames, rot away metaphorically. It was strange watching Viktor be passive. Cooped up in his dorm playing games, not a single care for the world or the fact that he had to find a new roof, and fast. He already spoke to the RA and office of student housing.

Viktor wouldn’t wait until last minute, sure he was stupid, but not that stupid. Yuri lived in the next hall, his suite a lot better than this shitfest. Not that he was worried about Viktor. He always had a solution up his sleeve, could manage a quick getaway in the seediest of situations.

Like a cat, and that’s why they were friends.

-

Yuri was right. He felt destined to swim in a river of correctness, he might as well be clairvoyant and open up a business. Read people’s futures, flip the tarot cards, mumble nonsense in Russian and call it a curse. Mila still didn’t want to speak or acknowledge him, not that he was surprised. But of all people he expected to visibly demonstrate death was none other than his fairy god reviser: Katsuki. Yuuri looked exhausted, his hair disheveled and movement stilted. The tip jar was pitifully empty, adding the cherry on top. “Otabek, please come,” he said to the walkie. It took Yuri a second to realize that Otabek was the muscular security guard, the scary one. The man had a guarded expression on his face when Yuuri pointed to the racks behind him. “Bathroom,” he muttered, giving Otabek a firm blessing to look after the alcohol.

“So, will you be my savior?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Otabek blinked. “Savior,” he repeated. His voice was surprisingly not manly deep. Yuri smirked his approval and knew they were meant to be friends.

He gestured to the countless bottles of liquor. “Now that a certain someone is gone.”

Otabek didn’t seem impressed or affected by the implication. In fact, his eyes crinkled in slight amusement. “I don’t make drinks,” he said mildly, pointing to his badge. Then taser. “I can stun you. Physically, that is.”

“Is that how you charm everyone? By fucking threatening them.”

The bass shook the glass, rainbow strobe lights danced off those arms. Otabek pressed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t threatening you. Just telling you the capacity of my services.” Yuri sniffed, not believing his luck. If he was going down this shithole, he might as well have one tough friend. A friend he can summon for dangerous stuff.

“I’m Yuri,” he offered gruffly. “And we should go get wings.”

He didn’t know how Otabek felt about the idea, but he certainly didn’t seem opposed to it. Otabek looked at his watch, the corner of his lip upturned. “I get out in thirty.”

Yuri inhaled. That smell. That smell was friendship.

Granted, it could all go horribly wrong. But it wouldn’t.

-

Otabek, or Beka as he was now affectionately known in his _bosom_ , was a wonderful human being. Made and crafted specifically for Yuri’s existence, which was pretty impressive if he said so himself. The first friend he made on his own accord and nobody else’s. No Viktor to mediate the situation with his pompous pep, no Katsuki to distract with alcoholic affability, no external influence.

But enough about his other half, his Boy. Yuri liked to avoid confrontation and comforting others like the plague, so he steered clear of Viktor for as long as he could. The day Viktor was supposed to leave his dorm passed, and Yuri didn’t want to know how the situation was handled. Based on Viktor’s merry whistling and flawlessly shaved stubble, he was peachy and settled. “So where do you live now?” He took a careful bite from his sandwich.

“Near the bubble tea shop. Yakov saved me, and my roommate.”

“Who’s the poor bastard?”

At this question, Viktor absolutely glowed, eyes popping out of his skull with excitement. “He’s perfect, the most beautiful human being my eyes had the privilege to see.”

“Don’t continue, I’m not interested,” he said bluntly, scraping the tomatoes off the bread.

Viktor glared at him. “If I had to sit through two cat documentaries, you’re listening. Either way, I feel blessed. This man loves poodles, and that’s all I need to know that we’re destined to be in some sort of union.”

He couldn’t help it. His laughter was cut short by the piece of lettuce wedged in his throat, which led to the choking session of the day. “What kind of logic is that! You can’t fucking tell what kind of-“

Viktor slammed his fist on the table. “I trust my instincts. I just can’t tell what team he plays for yet, but I’m a man of many talents. This is merely detective work. Chris told me to be honest, but that’s the easy way out. And I, Yura, am complex.”

More like stupid. This will always be Viktor’s downfall. Hopeless romanticism and poodles. Whoever this guy was, he had to be made of rainbows and tinged with darkness because Viktor loved contrast. An edgy baby, essentially. It was no secret Viktor loved men who were fit, and he had a hard time picturing a huge muscular man declaring his love for poodles on a first encounter. “You’re trying to make him fall in love with you? It doesn’t work like that.”

Viktor took a big gulp from his tea, which was a bit odd. He never liked tea. “Well, a little persuasion, a sprinkle of friendship, domestic bliss, and I’ll let him get comfortable. He’s really shy.”

“Isn’t it fucked up that you’re trying to get into your roommate’s pants and you just met him?”

At this, he braced himself for the hot tea that would fly on his face. But Viktor dared to look angry as well. “I have good intentions! I’m trying to get to know him first, start as friends. Then we’ll rock the boat.”

It was Yuri’s turn to choke on his Coke. “You are a sin. A sin with a receding hairline.”

But nothing prepared him for the biggest surprise the universe had in store for him, for the gradual transformation he would witness.

He hated shopping with Viktor. It always started with “I just need deodorant” and finished with a full cart of actual nonsense. And now that he knew the idiot was rooming with the man of his academic dreams, The Magnificent Yuuri Katsuki, Lover of Poodles, Corrector of Essays, Future Viktor Nikiforov Dick Rider (Yuri came up with that one), his shopping habits were clearly altered to some degree. Viktor hummed thoughtfully at labels, actually hesitated when putting something in the cart. Added it all up on his phone calculator. He was alive to witness Viktor’s metamorphosis, and he didn’t know if he should be glad or disappointed.

“You are so fucking unbelievable. This is what two months with your piggy did to you. Do you see yourself?”

“I’m a better man,” Viktor grunted, engrossed on a bottle of lotion. “Do you think he’ll like this one more?” He had two bottles of two different brands of cocoa butter. They were both organic and expensive, “infused with other essential oils” and “benefits”. Being in love meant wasting money apparently, and Yuri was disgusted.     

“What is it for?” Why did he even ask, he knew Viktor was going to get both just to play it safe.   

“For Yuuri’s stretch marks. He uses cocoa butter right after his night shower.” It sounded so earnest he didn’t have a joke or snarky comeback. And making fun of stretch marks was out of the question because everyone had them and he wasn’t a garbage human being. But the dilemma still existed because it was meant as a gift of sorts. That much he knew, and if it’s going to be for Katsuki, then it better be damn perfect. According to Viktor anyway.

Which was why he browsed online, still in disbelief that they were doing this, _he_ was doing this, being an enabler, and Viktor showed no signs of budging. “This one has better reviews, so get it.”

All this bullshit for cocoa butter. Otabek will love this one, maybe crack a full grin. He sort of turned into Yuri’s diary, absorbing every tale his cat-loving soul could express. Memories of Russia, evening calls with his mom, night skies in the city. But recently, the saga included Viktor’s Slowest and Time-Consuming Conquest: Yuuri Edition. “Right.”   

“How do you know he has stretch marks?”

“I’ve seen them.” The unspoken ‘duh’ grated his nerves.

“Naked?”

“I walked in on him after his shower. By mistake. I’ve never seen anyone almost faint from embarrassment.” Viktor continued to look down the aisle, as if he merely discussed the weather. Sometimes Yuri wished he could be that shameless, but he also appreciated his own form of dignity. He watched Viktor slip into this dangerous infatuation, and the realistic part of this dilemma was that Viktor could win. He could charm Katsuki, but he could also fail epically, his heart shattered and stomped flat like roadkill. The alternative did exist. Because Katsuki also happened to be quite independent and horribly oblivious. Viktor’s affectionate and cheeringly flamboyant nature with everyone could be undoubtedly mistaken for friendship.

“Do you know if he’s…not straight?” These neck-deep non-platonic affections could make Viktor homeless, another factor to consider if it all went horribly wrong.

Viktor hummed. “He owns neon green running shoes. No straight man wears neon green.”

Jesus fucking Christ. There would be no reasoning with love, or an idiot unwilling to properly face his crush.

The first week of November rolled by without much happening. Except everything would be happening because Yuuri’s birthday creeped near the corner, and Viktor was more insufferable than usual. His inclinations toward perfectionism really shined through as the selection of ShopRite ice cream cakes mocked them, and all he could do was pat Viktor’s back and pray for his wallet.

Otabek, Mila, Chris, Georgi, Yuko, Takeshi, and even the piggy’s ex-roommate were all in. The list goes on, but they all agreed to congregate at the apartment, the promise of liquor kept his head on the clouds. He stared at Otabek, who made no attempt to hide his exasperation. “Do you know what ice cream he likes?”

Viktor shook his head. “He likes everything.” Of course he does, but Yuri bit his tongue and glanced at the succulents. What he would do for some peace of mind, or just a quality cat-petting session. He wanted to tell Viktor to stop being such a weenie, but when they had a list of shit they had to buy (which includes a Starbucks gift card for some reason), all he could do was see him debate between chocolate truffle and strawberry shortcake.

“Why not the Hello Kitty one?”

“Because you want it for yourself, Yura.”

“Fair point.” The cart was moderately full, but once they paid and rushed out of the store, Viktor stepped on the accelerator with little mercy. Yuri wanted to scream, mostly because the car belonged to Otabek and the thought of crashing did unhinge his soul. No cops, no pedestrians, no crossing cats were harmed; and Otabek continued to whistle merrily regardless of the Fast and Furious driving.

Yuuri’s birthday luckily meant Yuuri himself will be in class until five-thirty, which gave them plenty of time to inflate the balloons and decorate the place. Phichit took the liberty to direct everyone in the living room via Skype, his familiarity with it all a bit terrifying. Clearly a birthday bash was not his first directorial debut. Yuko and her boyfriend had yet to arrive, but significant progress made the small apartment welcoming. A pile of gifts, ranging from gift cards to a stapler (Georgi) stayed on the counter. 

“Please, please leave three rolls of toilet paper. Last time we celebrated…something, our shower curtains were used by someone, not sure who. So, yeah.”

Chris raised an eyebrow but obliged. “Anything else?”

“Yuuri is a bit—wild I guess you could say, so babysit his drinks. This is Yuuri K. we’re talking about.” Georgi lounged on the sofa, plucking his eyebrows quite meticulously and ignoring the conversation altogether.

“What does the K stand for? What’s his last name?” Mila asked, still acquainting herself with the man that stole Viktor’s heart, ventricles and all. She knew they worked together, but she rarely had time for a drink break while performing.

“Killer,” Yuri said. “Kawaii Killer.”

“Yura, I swear to Makkachin, who is on Russian soil and my dearest lady, that I will personally castrate you if you say that again.” Viktor rarely threatened, but when he did, he was a man of his word.

“Does that mean P stands for Penis Puncher?”

“I like that,” Otabek said wryly, fist-bumping Chris. Yuri "Penis Puncher" Plisetsky. 

The party was something to die for, and Yuuri had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!! Life suddenly decided to be rude and a margarita would be nice. Thank you to those who are still reading this somehow, and those who leave kudos and show love. Seriously <3


	6. Belongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cappuccino is an Italian coffee drink that is traditionally prepared with double espresso, hot milk, and steamed milk foam. Variations of the drink involve the use of cream instead of milk, and flavoring with cinnamon or chocolate powder.

Yuuri tugged the red thing on his neck, but it didn’t budge. His back protested in pain when he tried to sit up, and to his not-surprise, he only wore a t-shirt and Finding Dory boxers. One sock was missing from his right foot, so he could only imagine the living room if he fell asleep on the table at who knows what time.

Every shot he took last night was clearly to blame for the pile of bodies all over his living room, and the thing was, Yuuri had no regrets. Last night was arguably one of the best birthday bashes of his life, of his whole existence maybe. Chris, unconscious and still quite breathtaking, on the couch. Joined by Mila, who only wore her lacy bra and pencil skirt, heels abandoned, dark lipstick unfairly flawless. And Georgi, who was looking at the ceiling with utter seriousness it caused a prickle of concern in his mind. “What are you thinking about?” Yuuri asked, shifting on the table. It creaked underneath his weight.

“I got a handjob on this couch. From Chris. But I’m not gay.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that, so he pursed his lips and swung off while carefully avoiding the mini chandelier. Okay, first thing’s first, he has to have a body count, make sure they’re all alive, and prepare his tea-ibuprofen concoction. Then they’ll worry about the mess. The couch was fine, no suspicious stains to account for. The coffee table on the other hand, had the pitiful, charred remains of a Monopoly game board. Who lost and set it on fire, he didn’t know, but based on the amount of beer cans, empty vodka bottles, and shot glasses still filled with Fireball, it wasn’t hard to know why. He stepped over the clothes, making his way to the bathroom.

For some reason he wasn’t embarrassed, until he opened the door and was greeted with Viktor’s head in the toilet. “Um.”

Viktor heaved, and flushed every time something came out. “I promised I wouldn’t drink. Look at me. Look at _you_. I failed Phichit.” He wiped the corner of his lip with his palm and retched again.

Sure, he wore no pants, but Yuuri stared at his reflection for the first time, and he couldn’t help the horrible squeal that crawled up his throat. It was definitely not what he expected as the words ‘Blowjob Bib’ became permanently tattooed on his mind. His Finding Dory boxers didn’t matter, paled in comparison, until he lifted the bib and under that, his new t-shirt said ‘I EAT ASS’. Of course, the Japanese translation was underneath those words, and he couldn’t fathom how he let his happen. Blowjob Bib and I EAT ASS were not great ways to start another year for being alive. His hair was a mess, and his glasses were crooked. He didn’t know if his lips were red from lipstick or something else, but he refused to contemplate it any further.

“So, do you?” Viktor said to the toilet, muffled.

“Do I what?”

“Eat ass?”

Yuuri descended into another dimension, that _Insidious_ film made sense. Astral projecting made sense. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with Viktor of all people, in a bathroom, the aftermath of quite a spectacular party. Then again, he didn’t think he’d be wearing a bib and only boxers after a hardcore physics class either so what did he know? “I-I don’t think so.”

“You said you’d eat mine.”

“Don’t!” He could barely contain his wheeze.

Even in this lighting, in this current state, Viktor looked stunning. His wild bedhead was cute, like those Vogue magazine windswept beach poses. “You’re being too loud. Have mercy on my hungover soul.”

Yuuri apologized by patting and rubbing soothing circles on his back. It’s the least he could do. “Do you want tea or water with the painkiller?”

“Uh, water. Wait, what are you having? I’ll have what you have.”

He laughed, then remembered Viktor was suffering. “I don’t get hangovers.”

Offended and disbelieving, Viktor flushed the toilet again. “At all?”

Yuuri ruffled Viktor’s hair in lieu of a response, merely accepting that this was his fate. An ‘I EAT ASS’ shirt, a hungover Viktor, and probably a terrible mess in their entire apartment. The real question remained though, and that was answered when he opened the door to his room. Their room.

His poodle plush was gutted, its stuffing all over the place like some twisted murder scene, and under his dinosaur bedsheets was Yuri, snoring and drooling. Otabek had taken the liberty to cuddle with Peppa Pig, his somber expression also directed at the ceiling. “I don’t know what happened. Body shots. Monopoly. Life is a mystery,” he said, his hold on Peppa Pig tighter.

Yuuri knew Viktor exercised all self-control to stop himself from snatching the plush away from Otabek’s hands. “Did Yuri drink?” He said instead.

Otabek, always graceful and taciturn, merely snorted. “Did he? The moment he began to speak Russian, I knew I lost him.”

They all looked at the fallen poodle plush, quite a metaphor for the entire situation. “So, um, do you want Advil? Water-“

Otabek stuffed his head under Viktor’s pillow. “Yes.”

They decided not to comment and headed to the kitchen. The fact that Yuko also disappeared, her body under the table (fetal position) and Takeshi’s in the pantry was something they noted with silence. But he could feel Viktor’s unrelenting stare, it being so strong and intense Yuuri decided to stop focusing on the pot of water. He forced himself to look at Viktor’s face, and knew something was wrong. It seemed expectant, but also anxious. Definitely not the hangover. “Did you like the party?” Viktor finally asked. He sounded different, very distant, formal, and Yuuri didn’t like it. The world clearly shifted without his permission or knowledge. Silence was never a bridge they ever had to cross.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. He looked over his shoulder, glad everyone fell back asleep. Everyone being Georgi that is. “I…got to spend it with people I like. Who like me.”

“Like,” Viktor parroted. “Has it been different before? Why wouldn’t people like you?”

His hands reached for the chamomile tea bags, his insides flustered. So many questions, goodness. “Well, I’m not the most _exciting_ person out there.” He let out a short laugh and pressed his mouth. His lips were too dry. It felt warm, uncomfortably warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the stove or something else. “The fact that a lot of people came to celebrate my existence is nice. Usually it’s just me and Phichit.”     

“Exciting. You don’t think you’re exciting?”

He winced. It sounded sour when said like that. “Not necessarily, I just. I don’t know.”

“But was this, what happened last night, is it what you wanted?” The water boiled, and he watched Viktor rinse the tea cups, his hands too big for their handles. How endearing, he thought. Cute.

“I get a bit crazed when I’m drunk.” Yuuri bit back a smile at the thought of a dance pole, soaking in the ‘I EAT ASS’. The smell of the chamomile leaves, his aching back, the mauled cake. He couldn’t believe his luck, wishing Phichit was here to witness it all in person. There’s no denying he wasn’t alone. “But I wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t do sober.”

A cup shattered and he jumped. Viktor’s ears flushed, the ceramic fragments all over the sink. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Sorry! Really sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. At all.”

Yuuri’s insides coiled, his brow twitched, and he felt inexplicably uneasy. But he gave a wavering smile, determined not to rock the boat. Confrontation was never a skill he mastered either, and he’d rather not attack Viktor with questions of his own, mostly with a _what the hell is wrong with you?_ “It’s alright. Can you wake them all up?”

-

After everyone’s roused souls became conscious, they all left ibuprofened and with pep in their step. Yuuri piled the dishes (mostly shot glasses) in the sink and Viktor made sure to pick up stray wrappers and vacuum the carpet. Yuri was the last to leave, his bloodshot stare a lot more sinister than his usual half-scowl.

Only sweet Thai ballads accompanied the air while they cleaned. Yuuri dressed a lot more sensibly, with pajama pants this time, and rinsed his face. His mother always loved to play music while they worked, her voice belting obnoxiously from his room as she dusted his bookshelf every Friday. Sometimes Mari would play heavy metal, and fill the whole room with the stale smell of cigarettes, her signature perfume.

Of course his mother enjoyed cleaning, so much so that she often smacked him with her rolled up morning newspaper if his socks even appeared beyond the hamper. He kept pictures of Hasetsu and his family on the fridge, and a big framed picture of Vicchan on his desk. Vicchan used to snuggle between his legs whenever his mother claimed the entire house with the vacuum, and even now, he enjoyed watching people walk their dogs across the park.

He watered his succulents, re-alphabetized his collection of CDs, all of which were American music. Viktor perused through them during their study sessions and never put them back in their designated spot, not that Yuuri minded.

“I want to get a tattoo,” Viktor said suddenly, his hand mid-wipe on the table. It smelled like Clorox.

Yuuri hummed, and fluffed the couch’s throw blanket.

“But does it hurt?”

“Well,” Yuuri said, one hand smoothing the pillow, “it depends.” He looked at his wrist. “This didn’t. It’s not the best feeling, but it’s not the worst. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of.”

“It’s worth it if it’s going to be a part of you forever. Like most things.”

“But why did you choose yours?”

He still remembered when he walked in the parlor, scared out of his wits but excited all the same. The woman who tatted him was lovely, always stopping to ask him if he was okay even though the job was small. Her blond hair was sleek and pulled up into the neatest bun he’s ever seen. “I was torn between a word and a quote.” He laughed, still unsure of every step he’s taken. “I love reading, so words make sense.” In very small, black letters, the word ‘choices’ was on the side of his wrist. It could be mistaken for a birth mark. “I got this after I stopped going to therapy. My anxiety took a really dark turn, my insomnia too. I was doing everything in my power to learn English and attend an American university.”

Viktor’s eyes always pulled the truth out of him, no one else knew this besides Phichit and Yuko. But Viktor wouldn’t blather his business to anyone else, and he wanted Viktor to know everything. Just like he wanted to know everything about Viktor, but Viktor freely offered his personal information, no questions required. “But why that word?” He pressed again, still staring intensely.

“Because. Choices are the most important part of human life. Everything that happens is a result of a choice, whether it’s yours or not. I chose to come here, risk everything, I chose you as a roommate, sort of, and here we are.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

Yuuri sighed. He wasn’t used to speaking much. His existence comprised of listening, that was his role. But Viktor bristled, and Yuuri knew he fucked up immensely. This was why he never said anything, never dared voice these truths that lurked in the dark part of his mind. “Um, us meeting was weird. You were a customer, I never expected to live with you.”

“Would you have not lived with me otherwise?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just that I was desperate, and I was so intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated why?” Viktor narrowed his eyes, shoulders stiff. Definitely not the response he wanted. Yuuri, pink-cheeked and embarrassed, covered his mouth. He wanted to melt into a puddle.

“ _Because—_ you were super attractive, and so manly, and _so_ confident I thought you were a serial killer on the down low.” He grasped at words, finding none, and pressed his glasses to his nose. An anxious habit Yuko pointed out years ago. “Not what I stand for or embody, obviously.” It didn’t matter.

“Yuuri, we need to-“

Nope, no more. He refused to speak and elaborate. “I have to head out now, actually. Dance class starts in forty minutes, so I’ll be in the shower.”

Viktor faltered, then nodded silently, taking the hint. “Okay.”

 _Why are you so good to me?_ Yuuri passed by him hurriedly and didn’t care if his outfit matched. He stuffed his sports bag with bottles of water and lotion, an extra pair of socks, heading to the shower. Was this a fight? Was this an argument, or a rather raw, unpleasant discussion. He lathered his hair furiously, letting the soap sting his eyes. It’s not that he never wanted to be with Viktor. Because he does, he loves his company, loves that he’s such an incredible human being, but maybe they were different people who would never see eye to eye. Such drastic opposites, even their shampoos. His small baby shampoo bottle next to Viktor’s large shea butter brown tube.

When he managed to piece himself together, collect his bearings and head to class, he couldn’t help but look for the familiar post-it and thermos of coffee on the counter.

It was there, but he didn’t take it.

-

He rode his bike to the center, wanting to rid himself of this sinking feeling with rapid pedaling. His thighs ached and pulsated, it made him feel so human. So present. But he came here to do his job, and it was to inspire kids and help them express themselves with movement. The body commanded most actions, it was so omnipresent and magical.

Granted, not everyone has a great relationship with their mind and body, Yuuri can definitely attest to that. For the longest period of time, his high school era, or his dark days as he liked to call it, he was the last to properly mature. He longed for facial hair and a deep baritone spice, a square jaw and sculpted body. But he gained weight, his acne rivaled a pizza, and he was short. At least compared to others. His voice was reedy, and his anxiety didn’t help curb any of that. But bullying was never something he necessarily encountered considering Yuko and Mari existed, the two strongest women he’s ever had the privilege to have in his life.

And Viktor was everything. He really was. Yuuri saw it in the little girl’s confident footsteps, the boy’s unabashed grin, in the whole harmony that presented itself in his class. Everywhere he looked, and dance class has never been so uncomfortable.

“People are different, Yuuri.” Phichit coughed, his voice hoarse and barely existent, like he screamed too much the night before. Which he did if all that remained were ashes of a Monopoly board.  Yuuri tied his laces and sipped his water. “You need to keep that in mind. You’re different, people are, no one can really be the same. It’s like Basic Human Stuff 101. Opposites attract, don’t they say?”

“Viktor is extremely different.” That sounded pathetic, a measly little excuse that didn’t wane his inferiority complex.

“And why do you care?”

Yuuri whipped his head up. Even thousands of miles away, and Phichit could still stump him speechless with a simple question. He gripped his phone tighter. “He’s my roommate.”

“So? I was your roommate. And we’re extremely different. And we’re still friends.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know why I care.” Wasn’t he supposed to be smart, or at least well-versed in his own emotions? He could recite the name and place of each bone in a cat’s body.

This time, Phichit paused, and Yuuri knew this Move. Phichit was being careful, measuring the weight of his words before he said them. But before he could deflect it and play defense, Phichit whistled sharply. “Okay. Is Viktor important to you?”

He exhaled “I don’t know. Yeah, I think. If I’m making a big deal out of this.”

“Because it’s pretty obvious _you’re_ important to him. Especially after last night.”

Yeah, Yuuri remembered. He remembered Viktor sitting near the fountain with his arms crossed. Waiting for Yuuri to come out of physics. He didn’t know what to think, maybe something was immensely wrong, but Viktor said no, they have somewhere to be. And it didn’t click at first because Yuuri didn’t know it was his own birthday. His Facebook notifications tittered all morning, and now it was five, many birthday wishes later, Viktor insisting he close his eyes.

He was giddy, he didn’t know why because he absolutely hates surprises, but surprises from Viktor were always amazing.

He loved opening them, knowing that people would be there to shower him in squeals and a ‘god, you’re old’. Yuko squeezed the little oxygen that remained inside him, while Takeshi smacked his back with the force of a whale (Yuuri saw stars). Phichit’s grinning face on the TV screen, Skype’s shitty quality still managing to show his clear excitement. “Last night?” He repeated. “Yeah, he knows how to throw a party.”

Phichit snorted. “Yeah, I was there for the birthday cake, but I wasn’t there for the rest. I still got texts from Yuko about what you both did, though. I’m definitely sad I missed _that!”_

Yuuri blinked. He looked around, aware that he left the community center and was almost home. Did he really walk two miles? “What do you mean?”

“You have a mouth, talk to him.”

 And he hung up. Yuuri gaped, looking at his screen to make sure his senses didn’t deceive him. But no, CALL ENDED really stared back, and he wanted to rip his hair off in one swift motion. Like a Brazilian wax, and he’s seen that in action. Yuko’s nail pinching became a tiny scar on his wrist after the woman pulled the strip. Yuko had shrieked and howled, her nails digging into Yuuri’s palms. _You have a mouth, use it_ , Phichit loved to say whenever Yuuri complained about ordering pizza. “It’s my brain, not my mouth,” Yuuri would bite back. It was his brain, his thoughts, nothing else. The door knob mocked him, and he actually hesitated, he hesitated going inside his own home.

What would Viktor say? What would he see. Yuuri opened Snapchat and looked at his face. His cheeks and forehead were flushed red from the walk and bitter cold, lips dry and glasses crooked. If there was anything Yuuri bothered to fix, it was his appearance. He was always collected, stressed or not, and now he practically screamed _my life is falling apart quicker than my mental health._ He opened the door, inwardly cringing with how much his keys shook in his hand. To his not utter surprise, the TV was on and his living room was very much Viktor-ful.

The awkwardness, or at least Yuuri thought, was difficult to ignore. Viktor continued to watch Bob’s Burgers, his arm wrapped around the couch, the other in a bowl of popcorn. He slipped off his shoes and tried to scurry past. “Why weren’t you at the center?” Yuuri asked, hating how forced that sounded.

“I didn’t feel like going.” Curt, but not cold. Yuuri relaxed. This was fixable.  

“Oh. Okay, I’ll be heading out for a run, so don’t lock the door.” 

Viktor finally looked away from the screen, the shadows of his face dancing with all colors. Yuuri felt his chest tighten, it leaped with warmth. “Do you want me to join or sit it out?” Viktor asked, always giving him options. Always reading Yuuri like a book he knew so well.

“Sit it out. Just this once,” Yuuri admitted, apologetically waving. “Next time.”

Viktor nodded, the corner of his mouth upturned into the barest of smiles. “Okay.”

Yuuri held the door open, still unsure, but he put on his earphones and crossed the street, biting back the temptation to tell Viktor that no, never mind, please join me on this run like you always do. They ran after their teaching sessions were over, five miles full of banter and endless musings about nature. His body still felt sore, the good kind of sore that exercise hummed.

 _Use your mouth, you have it for a reason_ , Phichit sang in his mind. Something shifted, and it was before they had The Conversation (as Yuuri liked to call it).

He checked his playlist, and it all hit him like a freight train, his blatant stupidity disappeared. Social media existed for a reason, and if something special _did_ happen, Chris would definitely post it. He opened Snapchat, the bubble spinning so slowly like the train wreck that was his life.

There was a video, he was blowing the candles off the cake with the caption “What that mouth DO???” Yuuri already wanted to murder Chris, even though he was grateful this memory was documented forever. The next picture showed all the alcohol they were ready to drink, then another video of Yuuri taking a shot, no caption (thank god). The next video was the last, and now he understood Viktor’s skittish behavior this morning. Yuuri couldn’t tell whether his lips actually existed, it was as if he had been determined to consume Viktor whole. And Viktor was more than receptive, knocking over the Monopoly game board much to Yuko’s excited yelling.

Yurio’s screech (“I was fucking winning you assholes!”) made the charred remains of his eight-dollar purchase almost sensible. Yuuri replayed the video, hating that of course Beyoncé was their soundtrack, and he looked like such a touch-starved slob.

He ran it off, licking his already dry lips, knowing that Viktor’s touched them, they’ve abandoned friendship and claimed unchartered territory. Waking up on a table, wearing what he was, it never spelled out something his stomach could handle. And yes, he can’t deny that Viktor is superbly attractive, he also can’t admit that they were romantically compatible. Either way, they were drunk, and drunk people do stupid things. It’s not like he never kissed Yuko or Phichit, it happens.

Mistakes, he lived them. It made things interesting, but he liked watching them from afar. As long as they had no impact on him, he didn’t care. But he made a choice, his tattoo mocked him with the irony of ironies. Maybe Viktor would never see him under a romantic spotlight, they would move on and it would be okay.

His first crush itself was memorable, Himari was her name, and they were in the same class for three years. Brown hair, black eyes and they were so beautiful. Hasetsu teased him with how frequently he saw her, always with her friends, laughing and easing into life so breezily. Unlike his stuttered introductions and weary behavior. She loved to read comics, and her athleticism always stirred a flutter in his chest. Especially volleyball, goodness she could spike and make his palms sweat. He had a tendency to romanticize the unattainable, to blend into the wall, and just linger. Her hair was cropped short, never ever past her shoulders, and her Hello Kitty lunch box put his average tote to shame.

He won a Hamtaro pencil case at a festival with the sole aim to gift it to her. But by next spring, her family uprooted to Tokyo and he never saw her again. Not that he ever intended to have something soulful, but it always made him wonder what she was up to. If she was in Japan, or like him, decided to cultivate elsewhere. The first boy he considered actually kissing was here in the States. Filipino and true divinity.

At first he blamed it on the tequila in his system, because he never thought boys were pretty. Men constituted as off limits, at least for nineteen years and suddenly his hair was being fisted, his back pressed to the wall, mind zooming in on cloud nine with arousal.

He didn’t mind giving in, in fact, homosexuality and its presence on campus, the visibility of its community made him feel less alone. After all, he didn’t agonize over an infinite number of English-learning tutorials on YouTube to kiss boys and understand “DTF”. Not that he was a saint, he went a bit wild, at least his mother would’ve said so, but he was in America and exploring his identity. He enjoyed men as much as he enjoyed women, and why was he thinking about this? It really didn’t matter, but Yuuri hacked up the spit that stuffed his throat and spat it to the side, running even though the left side of his body throbbed.

He could barely hear the music with his heart pounding in his ears, sight of their apartment building spike his adrenaline tremendously. Running past it, and hating himself for doing so, he kept going until the familiar aloe vera plant told him he was at Ice Castle. Looking at his watch, they wouldn’t close for another half hour and the thought itself made him so happy. He opened the door with its usual jingle, not the least bit scandalized when a hungover Yuko screeched at the sight of him.

“Yuuri, you’re sweating.”

Smiling and approaching the counter on the tips of his toes, he patted her head. “Thanks.” Her mascara looked too chunky, and her foundation had patches. Which could only mean one thing. “We’ve been through this, you know. That’s why you break out.”

“Shut up,” she said, retying her hair. “I know what I am.”

“Gross,” Yuuri finished, rubbing off half her eyebrow. “This is two-day old make-up. You’re clogging your pores.”

Yuko rolled her eyes and pointed at the menu. “Okay, Michelle Phan. I won’t do this again. But unlike _you,_ I had work after a hardcore night of body shots. Not all of us can kiss hot Russian models and sleep it off. Are you going to order anything?”

He swore in Japanese. “Oh my god. First of all, I had a dance workshop to teach, and second, _yes,_ I do plan to order something. Medium cappuccino.”

She grinned, popping her bubblegum. “I like how you completely disregarded the kissing part.”

“Yuko, _don’t.”_ Three syllables have never sounded so pained.

But no, nothing can stop her, not even Yuuri’s baby voice. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you? Probably remembered your past crushes and conquests. Contemplated your sexuality. I mean, Viktor is universally attractive, no one would _blame_ you—“

He covered his ears. “Nishigori-san, please. I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” She swatted him with a crepe and he didn’t hesitate to eat it. Was he that predictable? Maybe Yuko was a witch and it took him decades to figure it out.

“Respect your elders,” she snapped, sliding the cup towards him. “Seriously, just watching you both dance around each other makes me want to get married sooner.”

Spitting his gulp of cappuccino wouldn’t be the most sensible reaction, but he did and he didn’t dare apologize when he doused her apron. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, almost like a bull, and he backed away with little guilt. Thank the world he wasn’t wearing his glasses. She would’ve snapped them in half. “You said it, not me,” he mumbled, brushing the napkin on his chin. “When’s the wedding?”

Her cheeks colored pink, and suddenly she was Ms. Bashful (soon to be Mrs. Bashful, Yuuri thought with a smirk). “This is about you, not me.”

Although he could feel the sweat and greasy layer on his face, his chest especially, the cappuccino overpowered his will. Just so he wouldn’t think about It. It being The Kiss. Maybe he could move in to the café, and never step in his apartment again. “Viktor is watching Bob’s Burgers. Without me.” _But you’re the one who told him to_ , his mind added snidely. _Aren’t you a selfish little swine? He can’t run with you, but he can’t watch Bob’s Burgers without you. That’s rude._

Those theories of spontaneous human combustion always unhinged him, because it was probable. He could, theoretically, make himself explode, simply because he was a walking trash can. “That is not the straightest thing you’ve ever said,” she said gently, with her Mother Wisdom. “You’re placing that kiss on a pedestal. I bet you don’t even remember it, or how it felt. It doesn’t have to mean or change anything. If you truly think you’re better off as friends, then it’s your choice.” She glanced at his tattoo with a sigh. “But if you want to put yourself out there, I’m sure Viktor wouldn’t mind having a conversation. The worst thing he could say is no.”

“Rejection is absolute hell,” he said flatly, taking another gulp of this sweet, caffeinated mess. If only it was tequila. “I’d rather pine from a distance.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” He sighed, crumpling the cup.

“You are not pulling another Himari. Not on my watch.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, running out of the café before she could chase him with a broom. He was an excellent piner, his twelve-year streak still strong. Just ask the Hamtaro pencil case. It’s in his desk drawer.

But that wasn’t the only object on his desk. Another cup of lukewarm tea rested there, along with a little post-it note. Viktor’s scrawl ingrained within him, he hated how he smiled at the little poodle doodle, at the words ‘don’t think too much, causes wrinkles!!!! :^D’. Viktor wasn’t home, and he’d rather not see him until a shower happened.

Yeah, he’d rather sweep this feeling under the rug. Because being friends was better than being nothing at all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag has finally been added. Just so anyone knows what they’re getting into. I should probably make something clear, because it’s a pattern I’m noticing and maybe I’m coming off as neglectful. I know this story should be my focus, and it is!! Like it has an outline and everything, it’s my first multi-chaptered work and I’m determined not to abandon/delete it. I also know I take a really long time to update, and I’m really sorry about that, I’m absolute shit when it comes to any deadline, esp. a nonexistent one. If you haven’t noticed, my works are gradually becoming depressing (which sucks), this is one of the most light-hearted things I’ve written at this point, and I’m finding it hard to meme. So those little stories/shitshows I post between updates isn’t because I’m not focusing on this, it’s because I get whatever’s in my system that could possibly interfere with this out, expel it somewhere else. It obviously didn’t work considering some of my saddie sad sads managed to creep into this chapter, this wasn’t meant to happen. Every time I post a story unrelated to this/this fandom, I feel guilty, quite frankly. So that’s that :^/  
> If there’s something you want to see in this story, or want me to write in particular separate from this, let me know, or not. If you’re somehow still reading this, for whatever reason, thanks. Thanks for the patience, and for those people who leave kind and constructive comments. I read every single one of them and float for the entire day like that blue bird from Dora the Explorer.  
> Wow, I wrote an essay for no fucking reason. I’m lame.  
> [tumblr](http://dicktatorial.tumblr.com/)  
> [song inspo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UY3mAoqQh0k)  
> mistakes are mine!!


	7. In

Flicks of rain landed on his knees. His shoes were spared, and he looked down, realizing they were huge. He was a man, an adult. But with a severe case of nostalgia and reflection, because if there’s anything more American than reminiscing the past on a wooden bench, it’s holding a cold-ridden paper cup from Ice Castle in his hand. Blinking blearily as the Detroit rain peppered his grey sweater black, Yuuri’s hesitant half-smile underneath his eyelids made the churning in his stomach much worse. The tall slated skyscrapers of New York as well.

The trees’ branches bounced he remembered, their leaves flipping and whirling wherever the breeze pushed them. They were mini green trampolines, so small and rare in a place like this. Someone had shouldered past him, and he had looked up, a bit startled but also embarrassed. New York was the embodiment of the word ‘bustle’, but that was the city. It was the first time he wasn’t the center of attention or the strongest focal point. Not that he raved on being self-centered. He just knew his overwhelming, pompous, and cheery nature demanded socialization.

His whole personal sphere gravitated toward people, their personhood, verbal expressions. And that’s why being a businessman seemed so natural. Marketing seemed so natural. Yuuri was so natural.

But that was a different terrain he refused to destroy. His relationships with people always had that predictable edge, at least in the inner workings of his mind, he knew he could be selectively open, but also reserved and mysterious. Speak more, show little. He glanced to the side, watching the jogger he saw every day, a tall woman with an Adidas backpack, freckles showered on her arms, run past him. The old lady who always had a bag of Bimbo bread ripped the loaf to pieces easily, throwing it at the birds and geese. A man with a turban gesturing wildly while on the phone.

It was all a mirror to his life in St. Petersburg. He remembered when he first came to New York, to the States, how rapid English filled him with anxiety. For the first time, in like. Ever. Sure he knew that a new country, a new language, a new everything wouldn’t be a 180 shift, it’d be a 360. But it still made him fall flat on his ass, the half-empty water bottle so alien in his hold. Thankfully he had family here, a rock to sit on when the torrent got high. It helped that he came every summer to his family’s summer house in Cali, the beach house in Florida.

But still, to be permanently rooted here for the next four to five years was a different story. Yeah, he knows he loves people, but new people…they’re another realm he had yet to venture to.

Weekly calls with his mom kept him rooted, even though he was constantly surrounded by his tongue in his uncle’s home. But once he applied to the university after working at his neighbors’ corner store (brushing up on his English), a new spark lit up in his chest.

The homesickness, tangled English, the unfamiliarity of it all, his uneven gait: it didn’t matter. He shoveled the unease beneath his heel, determined to make his education everything. To make something out of nothing, pull a rabbit out of a hat. Any hat. But Viktor had always been an optimist, not a realist. His funds after the first two years were dangerously low, and asking his family back home to pitch in made him feel like a rat in the subway. He had family all over, resources, but he had to make it.

He walked dogs, mowed lawns, and then Yakov stepped in like tumbleweed in the prairie. Moving from Russia to New York, then to Detroit had been costly. But an adventure all the same, even if it entailed living in a dewy basement temporarily. “Vitya,” he had somberly said. “Teach the pipsqueaks how to skate, and that’ll be your part-time job. No games. Just dance and skate.” He sunk his teeth into this opportunity, had Mila recommend local restaurants, Georgi tell him his unsuccessful romantic ventures, and then the gay club incident happened. It was Yuri’s idea, mostly. Mila loved all sorts of clubs and she was tired of her own, needed a new scene she said. She danced and loved it, dyed her hair different colors each week, eyes always dazzling. Sparkling with glitter and blue eyeshadow.

That’s when Viktor found paradise. Men, he decided, were beautiful. Perfect. He loved women as well, he simply enamored himself with the idea of beauty and wit. Hard work and resilience. He had his flings here and there, nothing quite substantial, but still. He found himself.

Self-discovery and romance, his favorite combination in any film.

But love doesn’t keep hunger at bay. It doesn’t pay the bills, and for the first time in a while, a sliver of fear hit him when his term bill was emailed. Dorming itself was a big chunk of it, and like the adult he had to be, he swallowed up any forbearance and barreled into the financial aid office. Off-campus housing was an option, a cheaper one too, the problem would be finding a roommate a month into the semester. They’d just start getting filled in faster, everyone closing the smallest of cracks with adulting desperation.

But instead of avidly hunting for ads and cruising obscure local postings, he dedicated every hour to his Sim, restructuring his home, _its_ home, splurging on a camping trip with a lady friend. Did he worry about his impending doom? Yes, of course. But Viktor refused to worry. He will not succumb to anxiety and life turbulences. Although Yuri’s concern was palpable from across the room, prickled the back of his neck with the intensity, the gravity of this situation. Mumbling himself in Russian, thinking if worse comes to worst, then he’ll sleep in the dance studio. How long he’ll be able to is debatable, considering Yakov sniffs the air like a bloodhound and his ex-wife detected any slight disorder with a sweeping hawk-like gaze. That possibility doused the flaming situation, but he knew he wasn’t skilled with masking his mistakes.

Or life problems. But regardless of the bumpy and curving road, he went about with his daily responsibilities. Volunteering for his Furry Friends Animal Rescue Club, coordinating movie nights for the LGBT+ orgo, teaching the kiddies the importance of balance while ice-skating. Handing in essays about radical feminism for his sociology class, analyzing Karl Marx even though it bored him to death. And of course, seeking refuge in coffee shops and indulging himself to forget about his financial problems.

He stopped going to Starbucks when he realized their caramel macchiato was the reason he always had diarrhea during his marketing class, and he definitely didn’t want burnt bean water the university café offered for free.

So with a joyful step toward the Ice Castle Café, which had a 4.1 rating on Yelp, very important, also made the prospect of coffee important. Viktor considered bringing Yuri a corn muffin, but then he remembered he wasn’t exactly in the position to freely spend like he’d like to, so with a five-dollar budget, he approached the counter. Tried to muster up a collected exterior and focus on the simple pleasures of life, and maybe if writing his paper before 2AM was possible.

“Hello and welcome to the Ice Castle Café. What would you like to order?”

In retrospect, he had never seen someone with such prominent dimples, or anyone really pulling off a coffee-stained apron. His eyes immediately fished for a name tag, finding this friendly and stunning beauty nameless, and well, waiting for an answer to the question. Viktor swallowed, his tongue surprisingly dry. He uttered the first thing on the menu, all handwritten in loopy cursive, hearts dotted on every I. Wow, if only his mother could see him now, “Vitya, I didn’t raise you this way. The only person you should ever stutter for is for your mother.”

But this coffee shop sweetheart only gave him a shy smile, one that said _it’s okay if you’re dumb, because I am pure sunshine and forgive stuttering fools TM._

The urge to be a little forward and maybe ask this man his name stayed on the tip of his tongue, now was not the time to think about romance when homelessness was in the horizon.

Of course, even if hypothetically this situation ends well, what will he say? “My days are numbered, if you want to kiss me before I am slaughtered, please go ahead, you can have a few American dollars from my account, maybe look after my Sim.”

But like a rational human being, he took the blueberry muffin and caramel latte, biting the laugh because he had never seen someone struggle so much to make something, beet red and on the verge of erupting. For good measure, Viktor placed two dollars in the tipping jar, immediately hating himself because he’s broke, _what is he doing!_ his brain screamed. All due to niceties and cuteness. However, when he peeked inside the little paper bag, he saw two muffins, not one. His heart flailed.

-

The plastic smell of the breakroom in the basement seemed a bit dewy. But he strapped his skates on, ignoring the biting pain. His pinky toe had a horrible blister, but classes had to continue and he needed a direct deposit in his account. Not that Yakov would be early with it, he had to be reminded by his employees to pay them.

Today would not be one of those days, and sometimes he regretted telling his father that Yakov was here in the States, within breathing proximity every week. Apparently, Russians clung to each other like gum on hair, and his father never wasted an opportunity to ask about Viktor’s daily adventures.

“Your father is worried I believe. Personally, if you were my son, I’d install a chip inside you to locate you at any second. Like they do here with dogs.”

“You’re a charming man, Yakov. Has anybody told you that?”

“I’m serious, Vitya. I spoke with your father recently. I didn’t tell him about your situation, but I did manage to sneak in some money talk.”

“Money talk?” He stopped breathing.

“Listen closely, I’m not going to repeat myself. I got into some discourse with one of your coworkers, said he’s looking for a roommate. Nice boy, might improve you. Big time.”

Viktor rubbed his forehead, ignoring the grease and raised bumps of acne. What a week. “Why is it that every time you do something nice for me, you have to say something rude?”

“I’m not a pillow. Here.” A little crumpled up post-it was slapped to his chest and he held onto it like a religion, its tiny and impeccable handwriting detailing a phone number and name. The opportunity was there, he just had to grab it and hopefully still have a chance. But he pushed it in his pocket instead and headed over to the rink, not surprised when a circle of children waited for him with expectant faces.

In the grand scheme of it, if it all worked out, he’d be fine. No need to call his parents and worry his mom an ocean away. But Viktor waited anyway, occupying his mind with nothing but his job. Exhaustion in his lower limbs would welcome an overnight ache. He walked to his dorm, not daring to call a cab. That’s money. The bag slapped his thigh with each step and the soles of his feet pulsed.

Just _being_ in his dorm made him nervous, knowing he needed to leave as soon as possible. He felt so temporary, it all felt so temporary. It was a silent desperation though, he checked his email and when the subject line declared GRADED PAPER 4-VNIKIFOROV, he opened it so quickly, skimming to the bottom and dismissing the comments. It was the grade. The grade, and when a B+ in Times New Roman looked back at him, he wheezed.

_Good job, tremendous improvement. Ideas and format were present. Remember to adhere to the prompt and connecting your ideas like you did here._

He checked the email that started it all, grinning at the handle. Yuuri was his savior, whoever he was. The inclination to email him and thank him was overwhelming, but again, he didn’t. He didn’t want to think about anything. The left side of his head hurt. A circled date on his calendar meant he had a quiz tomorrow.   

Sleep was the only feasible option at this point.

-

Viktor prided himself in his ability to adapt in the predictable flow of life. That’s how he found comfort, digging into pre-molded spots, expecting surprises and whipping some out on his own. His friendship with Yuri was a testament to that. While they were polar opposites in terms of personalities, they were both in the same predicament. New country, new language, new people. But ultimately, getting a degree and settling down hoping for the best.

From Yuri he can expect some harsh criticism, a bit of a cat discourse, angry text messages that expressed the desire to commit mass homicide. But Yuri was rarely quiet, or calculating. If anything, it was Viktor who did the calculating, planning or being the gateway to something important. Introducing Person A to get to Person B. Ultimately to get Thing X. But now with Katsuki’s number dialed on his cell, and his fingers hovering over the keyboard, it was Chris’s cat-like stare that prompted him to take action.

“I’m sure,” he said slowly, “that he hasn’t chosen a roommate yet. So do it. Do it now.”

“What if it’s a dead end?”

Chris took a sip from his lemonade, swishing an ice cube in his mouth, biting it down with a muted crunch. “Then you’re fucked. Don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Great.” It was five in the morning. And he didn’t know what to expect. He texted the number anyway, nostrils flaring when three dots appeared like a magic trick. “He’s typing. Oh, lord, he’s _typing.”_

His eyes skimmed over, yes, his future was sealed. There was a rainbow at the end of the tunnel, one that promised a roof over his head. It was five in the goddamn morning and the fact that Katsuki even responded seconds after made his insomnia worth it.

_of course!!! Is 2pm at ice castle cafe okay?_

It was settled then. No one could rain on his parade. “Don’t get your hopes up, maybe he’s a serial killer.”

“Me too.”

-

Along with the cluster of anxiety, but most of all, excitement, Viktor let the warmth of the ceramic mug soften his cold-stiffened fingers, his entire focus on the cell screen. He texted Katsuki a while ago, three minutes ago to be exact. He glanced outside the café, hoping to catch sight of him. Maybe it was a bust. Changed his mind and found a roommate already. He definitely did not expect the barista to approach him, embarrassed and clutching his phone so tightly his fingers were white.

“Hi.” What a soprano. Viktor held his breath and let the sweet truth hit him. “Uh, sorry for being late.” The massive coffee stain on his apron and lack of glasses made the situation a lot more hysterical than it really was. With surprises near every corner and certainty that he was entering a new era in his life, Viktor blinked, and the smell of lavender was everywhere. The time lapse between meeting Yuuri and moving in felt short. Like a tiny filler episode in a show. His half of the room was clean, Yuuri was red-faced and helping him assemble the base for his mattress. One which his parents sent him money for. He couldn’t stop himself from greedily taking in the pictures and stray post-its. Little clues that would help him piece Yuuri together and maybe establish some rapport.

It was easy to realize that small talk would never work between them, and Viktor had to hold himself back from a bubble of questions that simmered in his mind. Yuuri was Japanese, he loved running (based on the pairs of running shoes in his closet, all organized neatly). He loved poodles, dogs in general, made tea every time he came back from work.

And yes, Viktor liked him. Liked how regardless of the clear weight of exhaustion, Yuuri could sit for three hours and spit out a flawless paper, read required readings and take notes a bit too anally.

He had never met someone who matched his energy, but Yuuri’s was different. While it was subdued and silent, it was just as full of fervor. And Viktor was fascinated. Yuuri listened to music every minute of the day, mumbled to himself all the time, wore Crocs to the convenience store, and loved taking out the garbage. And watching his hands cook, prepare tea so carefully after a long, heated day at work, it made Viktor want to move. Move where and why, who knows, but he wanted to move. Stagnancy no longer seemed romantic. Overworking was Yuuri’s default stage, one full of dark under eye circles and spontaneous naps on the couch.

“Being busy keeps my mind off things,” he had explained after rubbing so much moisturizer on his face. Admiration could only describe what he felt.

Viktor admired a very few selected group of people for specific qualities, and maybe he did romanticize every aspect of his life a little too much. But it’s what kept him optimistic and he’d rather be positive than pessimistic.

The smaller hand squeezed his tightly, trembling and focused. The little boy loosened his knees, the skate scratching the ice with how stiff he stood. “It’s hard, but you’ll get it. With some practice and time, you will.” The boy nodded, extending his arms for balance.  

Time at the rink breezed by and that’s all he could honestly ask for.

-

It was a gradual change. A shift that he definitely expected because Viktor was romantic and loved the idea of being in love. But even if he did look at Yuuri a little longer than necessary, he could still make out the flaws. How Yuuri didn’t like extremely probing questions, shut himself off when things got heavy and refused to acknowledge what made him upset. Viktor didn’t like that, didn’t like when he was barred from the truth or ignored for the sake of just being ignored. He tried being patient, couldn’t ask too much from somebody who was their own person and generally introverted.

From Chris, he could at least speculate after a few drinks. Chris would then spill, they cry together, problem solved. Mila didn’t withhold anything, Yuri could confess his entire archive of sins if he’s petting a cat. But Yuuri, he just stayed quiet, carried on as if nothing happened.  

Trying to ignore someone who dazzled you in every possible way was a more difficult task than he had imagined. He never used his periphery vision as much as he did now. He didn’t even know how he figured out Yuuri’s birthday was vastly approaching. His Instagram just coincidentally stumbled in front of him, and Viktor is a curious man. He scrolled through old tagged photos, translated Japanese captions, loving fetus freshman Yuuri looking nervously at the camera. And there just happened to be a picture taken on his birthday, two years ago.

_Another year closer to death, but who’s counting? Not me. Yes, I am._

He covered his mouth, unable to comprehend the yawning mess in front of him typed this caption two years ago. Yuuri sleepily brewing tea and wearing a rice mask, his face looking suspiciously like a melting wax figurine.

Viktor already had a layout in his mind. A blueprint that would obviously make an eventful evening. He would help set up a birthday party, even if Yuuri didn’t seem like the partying sort. But from what he’s heard (Mila mostly), he can down a few drinks and happened to be quite a happy-go-lucky drunk. He appreciates vodka like a Russian, and Viktor loves that.

But with his plans always come surprises.

He didn’t know how to describe that. That moment when the tequila made his whole face and neck warm. Felt so sluggish he wondered if he was having a stroke. Not that it was possible, he was incredibly healthy and he liked to keep it that way.    

He sees his hand holding Yuuri’s in a place he didn’t recognize. That’s the only lucid thought he had in his drunken stupor, that kissing Yuuri and feeling a bit too sweaty will always hit him post-hangover.

**Author's Note:**

> felt a little rushed I think, so I'll fix it later. anyway, let me know if you find any mistakes!!  
> [tumblr](http://dicktatorial.tumblr.com/)


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